Cottage

The manicured English grounds were perfect in the low setting sun of the now wintry season as the end of the year approached.  In this light, and impeccable setting, the cottage stood.  There it stood, and had done so for many years before, behind the white stable door that led to its interior.  Once a writer's abode and now once again inhabited by another one.  The cottage, small and quaint, warmed by a log fire in the heart of it.

They had done it, they had caused it, they had set fire to what was now blazing and soaring in insurmountable flames - did they know, did they care, could they heal it... they could not and many would say would not. 

Yet here in the cottage, surrounded by the beautiful green lands, the horses, the fields, green houses and historic features... the setting set a pace for rare moments of tranquility and an opportunity for the lungs to open wide and inhale the crisp winter air.

The trip drew nearer and upon that bird they would soar to other heights.

One Room

The sky is out there, vast and hovering over the earth which narrows, almost zooming into focus.  There is the location, a particular spot on the map.  Not only a small village but an even narrower vision of a room in a home.  The person is there, sitting and busy, with a torch shining on the busyness. 

Wrestless, waiting and agonised in these hours.

Gaping, gawking and a kind of frantic sense about that is restless.

The largeness and otherliness of the Great Wide World zooms from such magnitude to this tiny space of existence in but One Room.

It is here that everything happens and must happen.  Yes, everything.

All kinds of things which constitute a daily existence, a weekly and even monthly.

All in One Room. 

Not like other people and even houses next door who enjoy a life in many rooms.

There isn't a lock on the door and yet it's as if the strictest system is hemming us in for life-long imprisonment.  There was no force involved and somehow our free will has brought us to hell.

The letters and choices that decided this place are... well, where are THEY even?

The album, we cannot do.

The photo frame, shattered.

The message book, an abandoned project.

There isn't anymore.

We are there.  One Room, not at the start, or end, or even in motion.

The windowsill is full.  Everything is full, tight, occupied and cluttered.

They have their place.  Each thing.

Organised chaos surrounds the One Room.  Our lives, spent in One Room.

Five months, it didn't take long.

See-saw, see-saw, 'which' door.

We go up and stars twinkle above our foreheads as if they might never go out and gently caress the brow... wanting to stay... wanting more... to brush the fringe of the human head with gentle, loving fingertips.

Wham, it flies down.  Thud.

The devil is there.  He is laughing.  And more.

He is eating into our flesh.

One Room.  How sweet you look today in your organised way of being... of being, re-assembled.

Tonight you are quiet, very, very quiet.

You know don't you.

The writing is there, written word after word, all over your mind.  A mind full of words.

The zoning in view from the top of the earth, the heavens, read them.

Slowly, they read and stop with a deep breath.  They are not confused, they are not shocked, they are saddened and frustrated.

A dim light shines, flickers, goes out, re-appears.  Sometimes it seems it never ever ever will.  Momentarily pervades the darkness.  The lingering dark goes on for... almost ever.

One Room.  You are warm.  The season is changing.  You once brought something so different, did I mention VERY.

Walls of colourless substance you have watched me for six and a half years.

I'm sure you are not proud today, not here, not now, One Room.

Do you remember?  Not even that helps.

One Room.

Notebook

This is a great notebook in which I can write anything I like.  It's not a notebook for a certain subject - it's just for any old dam thing.  It's great to spend time on the page - baby sleeps momentarily and I have accomplished much for the day.

The sun is out but this house is chilly.  There are new things, places, people and seasons.  Everything I once had and loved has now altered.  What a season.  A chapter closes and the current season continues to test us to the limit. 

We are dynamite - us humans - with the possiblity of detonation at any given point.  Only God truly knows us and only God is truly trustworthy. 

August.

A new month in which old things pass away and new things spring to life... Here we go.

The past is no longer and can never be.

The future is our hope, destiny and my gem.

The Face

The face looked at me, it glanced at and away.  At times the glance became a stare - one of those that drink in every detail.  It wasn't unnerving, it was more telling, of the face and myself, like looking into a stream and seeing your own reflection.  The face faced me and I saw me facing myself.