Footslog



There’s turbulence in the chimney, and what I can see of the fat trunked ash tree is flailing; flails of branch framed by wet squares of glass. I sit at my table, sipping hot super strength coffee, hearing the rhythm of the storm. Dog sighs, curled up and towel fluffed, in her basket.

Earlier, we were stomping through the lanes, under the pelt of the rain. Mr had a futile waterproof layer. It keeps the rain out, he reports, and the sweat in. I show him the body of the fox, lying at the crux of the field entrance; what is left of it now, melting into the grass. We press on, footsteps splashing. I admire the insects still out flying: the dodge of the fingerprint sized white butterflies. 



Comments

The Cranky said…
If I skip the slog do I still get coffee?
15 August 2012 at 12:09
Anonymous said…
Sounds like nap time to me.
15 August 2012 at 13:26
Lisa Southard said…
Coffee is available without slog- just more satisfying with it! And far too strong to allow napping to occur- I am sitting down to type though.
15 August 2012 at 14:20
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Contact Pants Conundrum

Image
There is weather today, I do note it: take a few moments to reckon the size of a cloud (big) and the frequency of rain (sporadic.) Centre of my interest though is a stack of magazines. Not the fashion kind. This is martial arts research. I'm not even sure what it is I'm looking for, but intuition calls loud. A range of old adverts skew some amusement. Contact pants, for example. Pants are not trousers where I come from. They are underwear. Professional contact pants: improved smirk value. But why would a person be likely to purchase a grappling hook and a lock pick set? For specialists and hobbyists only, the blurb assures. Guidance on the pheromone spray that attracts women against their better judgement? I doubt it works any more proficiently than the mysterious potion that defines your muscles while you sleep. But, then: I wonder is some sprayed on this paper? What was my intuition thinking, making this ghastly shout… Tea break time. There's a lot of words
Read more

A Candle Lit

Image
We live by the light of those we love, whether they are here or gone. That light is inextinguishable. To have the light and not the company is an adjustment process we call grief. Loss is a shadow, equal to the light. We adjust not to lose the shadow but to see both. Hard to bear - yet without darkness, light cannot show its full wonder. Let us look after each other, then, and value our days, our company, and live to leave vast shadows, and understand that pain is a strange gift, a tender, haunting, purposed gift. And if you are grieving: let your tears flow, let your anger shout, let yourself plead and deny and feel terrible: it is not an easy process.  Know that other people know grief.  Know that other people are hurt to see you grieve.  Know that love is a fundamental response. There is no time limit to this adjustment process. No right or wrong way to feel. One day you will stand back and see that the shadow is proof to the strength of the light, a
Read more

Dear World

Image
31/12/23 Sunday Last day of the week, last day of the year. A time to assess, to question. Are we where we want to be? How far off? How does this happen, and why? Is this end of year or end of all days? And what on earth do we do about it? Much as I adore the glitz of festive days, a glimpse at current events brings heavy awareness. So, now what? Four quotes (all by old white guys, but useful nevertheless) sift into view as I flinch from the destruction of people and planet. ‘Know all the theories, master all the techniques, but as you touch a human soul, just be another human soul.’  CG Jung People can be hard to bear at times, but if you find a connecting point this is a powerful force, something beyond knowledge. Understanding and change can flow from it. A unity of souls. ‘Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.’ Nietzsche One of the common things done to justify terrible actions is to create ‘them and us’ narratives. A disunity
Read more