Circle of Women

The women gathered together and it was, together, that they talked of lives that were lived...

For each of them, each women, they led a life and had a life to be lived, each one in their own home and within their own world.

There was Rebecca, Julie, Macey and Bobbie.  Each one of them had their own ideas, values, some without,  notions of the world how it should have been or is, how they would have it, and each one of them had their own set of problems... oh yeah, each one.  

They rubbed ideas off of one another and saw that they all had something to be grateful for and something that the other had, that frankly, they would not like to have. Together, all of them, had lives to live, things to be appreciative of, and others not, but overall they had lives, that they did live.  Together they would live aside one another and grow and develop and build friendships ... this one different to that one, this one doing it differently to that one, yet it didn't matter.  They would all live and grow, together, all of them, alongside one another, yes, with their different ideas and different ways of doing things.

They laughed, joked, drank tea, shared some similarities of the day and together, all of them, the women, they knew they were bonded and yoked in some ways, ways of life and living, that we all had to live.  All of us.

Summer and Winter

Summer is here and winter is coming, it is soon approaching...
For now the skyline touches the tops of the roofs of the local houses by evening and early morning with a golden fingertip of orange light.
The air is cool, crisp and fresh on the evening, at the end of the day, a hot day in early September whilst summer still lingers.  Tomorrow, the end of the week draws nearer and nearer and eventually, not too long off, the end of the year.
We live in a 'full' country where there is 'much' and we are well and we are young, still, believe it or not.
Life is full, busy, accumulating multiple schedules from this one and that - each one with their way, their own things to do, their own lot and their own dreams. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow I tell you, will tell another tale and bring on a new day wherein all sorts of surprises await us and dreams lie in wait.  What did you do with your past years and what do you plan to do with the rest?

ART

1. The expression or application of human creative skill and imagination

THIS IS ART, AND WRITING IS ART... IT IS ART, EXACTLY THUS... CREATIVE, ARTFUL AND MAKING USE AND APPLICATION OF THE IMAGINATION AND EXPRESSION, AT TIMES EXAGGERATION.... ART IS ALSO DRAMATIC, EMOTIONAL AND EXPLICITLY EXPRESSIVE, NOT DEFINED AS DARK....

ART IS TO BE USED, EXPLORED, ENJOYED AND FOR THOSE WHO WISH TO PARTAKE IN ITS ART (FOR THEIR ENJOYMENT ONLY)... THE SKILL AND FUNCTION OF WEAVING WORDS, OR OTHER...

ART IS TO BE VALUED, TREASURED, APPRECIATED, PROLONGED AND ENJOYED BY US

A Meeting

The boy decided he had had enough.  He would soon have to make a decision about whether to stay or to go.  He looked one last time around the room and realised that he held no connection with anything around the room at all.  Nothing there held him to the place and there wasn't much that held sentimental value.

It was one of those cold London days when the sky looked as if it might turn black.  How odd the season had been with the weather following its own destiny from bright sunshine one day to jet black the next.  He thought for a moment about what he could have done differently and yet nothing came to mind.  It was as if he was living in a dark and dank prison cell whilst he had lived on this street and in these conditions.  

Times like this were desperate and the strangling relationships he found himself in were the final knot that twisted his stomach into coils that seemed as if they would never unwind.  How ironic it had been that this was the first place he had met them, in this apartment block, and on that mild day in autumn.  The sun was neither hot nor cool, it was just autumnal sun.  A usual day that held no outstanding memories or extraordinary happenings.

It has been a Tuesday when the estate agent sought to show him around a couple of vacant apartments in the block.  He had been a strange fellow himself, the estate agent with a peculiar scent, and clothes that dated back to the 1920's.  He was a short man with an unusual confidence which he used when speaking rather loudly and assuredly, standing as close to his victim as possible.

It was unfortunate that he was one of those people who came across as not owning a toothbrush or if he did, his wife might have dipped it into the lavatory water.  In this case, it simply couldn't have just been the lav water, it must have been a swathe in urine.  On that Tuesday, he had seen them coming for a long time before they reached him and he found that he was staring.

It wasn't that he was transfixed or drawn, it was just that his head had paused in motion and would not move from that position.  His eyes settled on them and they would not remove themselves.  He did not know why and he still did not.  It was one of those fatal moments of life when things happen and frankly you have nothing to do with it at all.  There was no element of choice or decision making process.  It was just as it has been told, it was just like this.