I know what I love; reading, writing, nature, countryside, plants, gardens, beautiful landscapes, dancing, Irish music, cosiness, snow, dusk with the blackbird’s goodnight song.

I dislike traffic, air pollution, people with no manners, poverty, gossip, noise, dishonesty, scruffiness, swearing, litter, ignorance, interference and hatred.

I love the freshness of rain, washing away all the coarseness and rubbish, leaving freshness and purity.  I love strong winds billowing and blowing, making you gasp and feel alive.

I love the moon, waxing and waning, glowing through the clouds, amongst the stars that glitter in that vast expanse, that puts me in my place.

There is so much to bring joy and I want to fill my life with those good things and dance and sing and let my soul soar!


ImageThere comes a time when you stop walking away.  You pause for a moment, you take a deep breath, you brace yourself, but then you turn around and you stride forward and you do not falter.  You face your fears head on.  All you can hear in your head is “Enough is enough, I am STRONG!  I CAN do this.  I AM WORTHY!” 

I am drowning, pushed down, deeper and deeper,

Demons all round.

Take more, more, they say.

I am sinking, my breath stifled.  Water

Gorges my throat.  I wretch but swallow

Instead and the gulp sees me off,

As I plummet, down, down further.

And now is all a blurr, just a bright

Light at the end of a tunnel and water

All around.

Suspended, going nowhere, this moment

Stretches for a life-time and somewhere beyond.

Down, down, deeper I go until I can barely see the light at the surface anymore.  It is murky down here; stifling.  The water weighs heavily on my lungs.  Every so often I freeze as a shark zooms into my space.  Having established who is in charge here, it quickly turns mightily away and propels into the midst of the gloom beyond.  Afraid to follow, in fact afraid to move anymore, I just wait, bide my time, tread water, watching the colourful array of fishes that sashay by, and dream of the world above.


Where do you run when you have no where to run to?  Well, my own little world seems to be where I go. It is safe there, safe and peaceful, with sunshine flowing through the windows, lighting up the rooms and making everything shimmer and glitter.  There is soft romantic music, sometimes soothing, sometimes moody and dramatic, like dark storm clouds moving swiftly over the open, windswept moors.  There is a view out to the garden, full of colour and movement, swaying and rustling in the breeze.  The mauve heads of scabious, dance and tremble with joy amongst the beaming orange marigolds, a splash of sunshine gold.  The weeping birch, with long arms hanging low, jiggles and sways, vibrant green leaves catching the light and glinting silver.  Bees buzz contentedly around the flower heads, butterflies sit, as though waiting to be admired, on pendulums of buddleia, warming their wings in the sun.  So much to see, smell and hear.  My blackbird, ever present, ever busy, announcing the day break, then later saluting the dusk.  Oh for this world of mine I wait eternally.  I get so impatient with wanting, yearning for it to be real.  It feels so far out of reach in reality, so I must be content with withdrawing into my head for now, like a snail into his shell.

Dora pushed open the heavy wooden door and went through the door way.  She had no idea where she was going or who might be there.  The room she stepped into, was dark and musty, cold and dusty.  There was dirt on the floor.  She could feel it under her feet.  She hesitated when she heard a sound from a room beyond.  Who or what might it be?  Her heart was beating quickly.  She creased up her eyes to try and peer through the darkness but she could not seem to get her bearings.  She had seen this house many, many times in drawings and photos but it felt so very different when she was actually there.  She stopped a moment.  There it was again, that sound.  What was it?  She couldn’t make it out.  She needed to hear it again, but each time it came, it made her heart thud.  It meant that someone or something was also there with her and she had no idea what to expect.  She felt her body tense in anticipation of an attack and she thought she might jump out of her skin at any moment.

She moved on, opening the door at the end of the hall and entering another dark room.  However, in this room, glimpses of sunshine cut through gaps in what seemed to be shutters, closed against windows.  She looked around her and then strode up to one of the windows, to pull open the fastenings and let some light in. The first one she opened creaked as it came away, allowing light to flood the room.  It was almost blinding at first.  It made an incredible difference to that dark musty space and the room was suddenly transformed in to a cadence of light.  Shadows of trees danced in the breeze, against the peeling wallpaper, on the opposite side of the room.  She pulled open another shutter and yet more light poured in.

Now the glittering candelabra was dancing and shimmering, making patterns on the wooden floor.  Dora spun around to see the changes all around her.  “What a beautiful room” she thought, “such incredible light”.  She was now drawn to the window and the view.  A breath-taking vista lay before her, stretching out to the horizon.  She was up in the treetops and forests and fields lay beyond, as far as the eye could see.  A sparkling river snaked in huge curves between the fields and it seemed to Dora that she was looking down on a paradise that some artist had painted.


There are so many things to fear, it is easy to lose perspective.  When it all gets too much I break life down to the simple things and remind myself what it feels like to be alive.  Those simple pleasures….the first breath of fresh air when you step outside in the morning, sharing food with others, enjoying every taste, rain drumming on the windows when you are cosy in bed, the feel of smooth pebbles in your hand, eroded over many years, but still here.  A hand outstretched to help you cross a ditch.  A stranger’s kind smile in a lift, when your face says “I’m buckling”….there is always something to latch on to, to keep you going.  This life is a gift.  However bad it gets there is always hope that it will get better and we can step out in to the warm sunshine again.