My sister is an orchestra

My little sister is like a musical instrument,
depending on what mood she is in,

When happy she speaks like the bells of a dozen bicycles
riding through the park on a summers afternoon.


When angry she sounds like drums rolling
down the concrete steps of a fifty story building.


When laughing she sounds like a trumpet doing a jolly solo in a
New Orleans favourite night spot.


My sister is an orchestra of love.

The Sea Calls

We couldn't wait to get out to sea in the kayak this afternoon. I sat at the front and after a while the waves took on a different reality.

I wasn't looking at the sea, I was staring into colour and motion. Mark kept mentioning that we should head back and I kept saying "yeah in a minute, just a bit further".

Then I suddenly thought, ok let's go back. We turned the kayak around and I realised we were so far out!  

No problem, a nice paddle back. Not so easy as the waves casually shifted us sideways, no problem, I thought we'll just paddle stronger, no daydreaming, a bit of focus. 

I knew we'd be ok but my goodness the sea can make you feel like the grain of sand you really are!

I don't think Mark and Spike were even mildly aware of my private panic, apart from when I ordered them to stop bloody singing as it was distracting me. "Sorry, I thought we were having fun" said Mark.

Oh dear, I'm a fun killer...

Anyway, all good, back to the shallows in time for a swim. Pretty perfect evening finished off with Mark hosting his ukulele class from our front room.

Can't stop thinking about that sea today though, and how it draws you out with the promise of freedom and peace, and how you feel so loved out there, maybe too loved, I mean it didn't make it easy for us to leave, lifting us forward, then pulling us back.

Tiny me, on the surface. Below, a giant turns in its sleep.

Hungry

 Hungry

That was uber-licious baby.

Chocolate chicken, better than gravy.

Hot toffee something, pink blue ice

Something red, something nice.

Sticky warm orange plum

Crumble custard hot yellow yum.

Bacon sarnie, sweet brown sauce.

Pancakes wet with syrup of course.

Give me seconds, give me thirds.

Give me fat sticky juicy words.

Not too sure about lemon curds.

Little Wing and the Dragons

A story about what a difference can make, making a difference and...what difference does it make?

A Dragon of bright green flew across the hot blue sky. He might have been from Russia,

But I couldn’t be sure.

He wore emeralds strung about his throat, wrists and ankles.

As he sailed towards the cloudless horizon he noticed something flickering below him.

He stopped in mid – air and shifted his small head from side to side.

Then he decided to drop a half a mile to get a closer look,

What he saw interested him greatly,

There was a great forest below with a large clearing. In its centre he saw a green flame.

It glimmered and glowed like nothing he had every seen before, so he decided there

and then to go down and claim it for himself.

He alighted close to the flames and warmed his hands and wings. Then he sat for a while soothing himself by the green light.

Soon he was completely mesmerized.

Nearly one hour had past, though it only seemed like minutes and he was deep in daydreams, when he suddenly sensed he was not alone. He looked around, but there was nothing; then he looked up and was most annoyed to see another dragon hovering above.

“Blast!” he cursed.

Up in the sky was a shimmering red dragon. He might have been from India, but I couldn’t be sure.

He wore a gold crown with a ruby in its centre.

He’d immediately spotted the flame, and was extremely exited.

“Ah!…A red flame, how delicious, I shall swoop down and claim for myself”

But before he’d finished his sentence, he spotted the green dragon.

“Oh what a pain,” he thought himself, I shall have to get rid of him first, then I can

have those flames.

Then trying to seem disinterested, he drifted down gracefully and alighted gently next to the green dragon.

The green dragon pretended to be pleasantly surprised.

“Oh was a pleasant surprise,”

“Likewise…” Lied the red dragon, “…and what has brought you to this part of the forest, oh magnificent one?”

“Oh nothing really, I just spotted a warm flame and decided to rest here for a while.

“Mmmm.” The green dragon thought, this was not likely.

So they sat eying each other suspiciously; now and then flashing the most insincere smile.

Soon they were both now gazing into the fire. The red dragon saw red flames and the green dragon saw green.

Another hour passed, when both dragons became aware of another presence.

They both looked up at the same time and were horrified to see, another dragon.

This one was a rich and deep purple colour. He might have been from Africa. But I couldn’t be sure.

He wore a silver tunic with amethysts for buttons.

He had been hovering for some time now and seen the flames just as they had.

Well this dragon was not shy at all.

“Oh what a glorious purple flame, I must have it at once!” He boomed paying no

attention to the other dragons.

He did not drift down gracefully nor float gently. He thundered to the ground like

A roaring meteor and smashed into the other dragons sending them both hurtling into the trees.

“Ha Ha Ha,” he bellowed “What a glorious purple flame!”

“I beg your pardon.”  Said the green dragon, shoving tress aside and stumbling back over.  “But the flame is green and I was here first.”

“What difference does that make?”  Fumed the red dragon,  “ Are you stupid?  They are not green, they’re red!” and he snapped his jaws shut and twisted his mouth.

“You are both idiots.” Boomed the purple dragon.  “And utterly wrong! For any fool can see, the flames are purple…Therefore, they are mine!”

“It’s red!” …“Green!!”…“Purple!!!”   They argued.

Things were getting unpleasant and the dragons were starting to do more than just argue.

Now they were fighting.

The earth rumbled and shook as they bashed and bullied, pushed and pulled, bit, scratched, spat boiled breath and hurled balls of fire at each other.

Now not too far away at the edge of the clearing was a tall tree with branches could poke through clouds. In the highest branch of the tree was a nest, and in that nest, was a baby owl. She was still fluffy and pale grey.

Now everyone knows that owls are the wisest creatures in the world and even baby owls know a thing or two…about a thing or two.

She had been watching with a widening gaze the whole scene unfold from beginning to now. It wasn’t looking too good and she was worried.

So she decided to call out to the battling dragons.

“Ooooh ooo.” She called.

They did not hear.  So she called out again, louder. This time they heard but they did not listen.

So being brave as well as clever she stood on the edge of her nest and flapped her tiny wings.  She flapped those wings faster and faster and faster…then she jumped!

It was a long way down, but she landed, fairly safely on the ground.

But it was too late.

Oh dear” she sighed softly “This is awful, there are bits of dragon everywhere. There’s an ear there and a foot there, a wing over there…and oooh, I don’t know what that is. What shall I do? What shall I do?”

Then suddenly she heard a friendly voice from inside herself and it said

“Put them back together again”

“Yes!” she said aloud, “I could do that.”

So feeling confident, she started to sew the pieces back together. She was kept very busy all day, stitching, matching and sticking and was having a lot of fun.

It was early evening and she was almost finished. She was fairly satisfied, but had an funny feeling that something was not quite right.

“Never mind”, she said and swept the doubts into the corner of her mind.

She carried on until the last dragon was put back together again.

“There!” she cooed with pride  “As good as new”

She smiled at her work, she grinned at her work and she beamed at her work.

But the dragons were not smiling.

They were looking at each other in a very strange way. Then they were looking at Baby owl in a very strange way, and she stopped smiling and began to feel afraid.

Green dragon spoke first.

“What have you done? Why do I have red ears?”

Then the red dragon cried out, “Why is my tail green?

Then the Purple dragon made a low growling noise.

“Never mind your tail and your ears!…” he raged. “…JUST LOOK AT MY WINGS!! One in red and one is GREEN!”

Baby owl’s heart sank when she realised her error.

So there it was and there it is. Owl had been very creative, but all the dragons were now different colours.

They began to lurch towards her. They stuck out their fierce claws, showed their huge pointed teeth and snarled. They towered over the tiny owl and were ready pounce, but suddenly the green dragon shouted out,

“Look!”

And they stopped. “Look at the fire” he gasped. So they looked.

“It’s purple.” Said the red dragon.

“And red.” Said the green dragon.

“And green.” Said the purple dragon.

“It’s all of those colours…” Said the Owl brightly. “…And more if you care to look closer”

So they did look closer and they saw yellow, orange, blue, pink, turquoise even black. They saw in that fire every colour that ever was, colours they’d never seen before; colours they didn’t even have names for.

They forgot their argument and their difference and that evening; when the sun dipped and the earth pulled on her coat. The dragons and the owl sat together around the great flames and named all the colours.

The dragons lived for a thousand years, But owls don’t live that long. 

When she was ten, she went to sleep and the dragons cried for ten years each. Before they left that place for good they wrote some words on a piece of wood. 

Our best friend Little Wings, Queen of the Dragon.

To the man I was afraid to speak to.

28^th May 2013

I've been living in Portslade, with my family now for around 2 years and a bit. I walk the same route everyday to my son’s nursery.

Almost every day I see you walking up or down the road past me, sometimes on the same side, sometimes across the street. 
I notice you wobble a little when you walk, like you’re about to topple over and you stop now and again as if to steady yourself. Your body leans to the right and your left shoulder is lifted. You wear green wellies, a jumper and most days a woolly hat. Sometimes you have everything tucked into your shorts which I can see above your trousers -just about held up by a belt. I don’t mean to embarrass you; I just notice that everything looks a bit twisted, like when my 4 year old pulls up his trousers after going to the toilet. 

For a long time I made an assumption about you; a thin; unshaven; messy; elderly looking man. For a long time I pre-judged you -we're all capable of prejudice- and I thought; you must be drunk at 7.50 in the morning or whatever time of day we passed. But as time went on, I began to wonder about you, I wondered if perhaps you might have an illness of some kind. 

We passed each other often and I began to feel embarrassed but I wasn't sure why. Then I realised it was because I wanted to say hello to you, but was afraid you would ignore me or that you might be unfriendly. So I started with a smile. Do you remember? You looked at me, but didn't appear to respond, or maybe your look was the response. 

Then I remember one day I saw you across the street and I nodded. I think you nodded back, but still not sure, I carried on after that everyday- sometimes nodding, or smiling and other times - to my shame - ignoring you. But I always saw you and always wanted to say hi and how are you? To quote a lovely friend of mine I thought, "What's his story?" Yes that's it, what is your story? What have you travelled from and through to bring you to this life, this street, this walk? I'm assuming again, assuming you are unhappy. But you might not be. 

So today, I was walking home from nursery, feeling like the weather. It was raining but I wasn't really sad, maybe a little melancholy, and anyway I think it's hard to feel very sad when everything around you is so verdant. 

I crossed the road, and I saw you in front of me. You had on those wellies, a hat and a lovely rich orange jumper that stood out against the green leaves as you passed under the sweet chestnut tree. It cheered me up to see you in orange, it felt hopeful. I picked up my pace a little, I had made up my mind that I was going to say hello, not ‘Hi’ or nod or smile, but I was going to look at you and be a friend in the street. 

So you were heading for the next crossing which was away from my direction, I broke into a stride and came up alongside you. As I passed you, I turned back. You weren't looking in my direction, but I said in a clear voice "Morning!!" Do you remember? You were a little surprised I think. But you looked right at me and made a sound. Not really a word, but a sound of acknowledgement! And you raised your hand in the air, a wave! I gave you a big smile, remember? And I thought, 'Great!'

Then I walked home feeling really lovely, I'm not sure why, but I think you made my day. 

I thought back over my wonderful weekend with my husband, our son and other loved ones, in woodland and in bright sunshine and how I'd happily OD'd on vitamin d if not antihistamine "Atchoo!" 

I remembered being utterly caught in the gorgeous bright May moon, not shining in its own right, but reflecting the sun and lighting up my situation, our situations, the goods and bads, the ups and downs. You reminded me of gratitude, you reminded me of how hard it can me to shine in our own right, and that sometimes we need each other’s light to reflect.

And I think that you were the sun on a rainy day allowing me to shine in your light or maybe I was the sun and you shone in my light.

Thank you.

The Wolf Spider

A long time ago, when the tallest trees in the forest were seedlings;

There lived a striking soul.

He loomed and loped, dragging forest mist.

His shiny moon coat rippled.

Unlike any other soul, he ignored their polite greetings.

He had nothing to say and heard nothing they said.

Though they always saw him…he barely noticed them.

He seemed to be looking somewhere else…for someone else.

His burning gaze could raise the forest to the ground.

It followed the deepest grain, seeking every branch.

Dispersing into a thousand leaves all shifting and stirring.

And behind those leaves his search would end, and begin again…

…The way they always do.                        

For behind the stirring and shifting was her.

The one who picked the lock and opened his heart, to steal?

No, not to steal, to put all these things inside; love, terror, grief, pleasure, rage, kindness…and things that do not have names.

Now, standing far beneath her and with a full heart, he cries out,

‘You! You did this to me… you put this in my heart…it’s too heavy,

I’ll drop it, it will break …your voice touched me, I love your voice, and now I love you. It hurts…and I am afraid.’

Without warning her many voices poured from the trees and covered him.

‘Then give me something back’ she replied.

His fear of the unknown was calmed only by its safe distance.

He whispered desperately ‘I could run now, even with this burden I could…’

But the voices ran down his back like fingers. They clung to his skin.

‘Give me something back.’

‘What do you want?’ he trembled.

‘Half’

‘Half?’

‘Half of what I have given you.’

The wolf’s heart thundered and he was sure it would shatter, spilling its contents…then she would have it all.

‘I’m coming down.’ She told him.

‘No!’ he panicked, ‘Not yet!’

‘You are still afraid?’ .

Silence... Only the sound of breath inhaled and held for too long…

‘Shall I come down?’ she spoke again.

And on the out breath came his words…

‘I do not think I would be so afraid of you, if you stayed behind those leaves and spoke softly to me about the way you look’.

But the spider being impatient was already on her descent, and as her dark body spiralled silently towards him, he heard glass splitting.

As she unfurled endless legs from her soft round abdomen the wolf fell upon his belly scraping frantically at the spilled contents of his heart.

He could not breathe or see, tears and dust filled his eyes…

‘I don’t want this! I don’t want it!’ he sobbed hysterically, trying to separate the love from the pain, the passion from the fear.

And all the time the spider hovered there. He hadn’t noticed her. She’d been deftly picking up the pieces, half the pain, half the elation…

When the spider had finished, she kept very still, observing his crying body.

They stayed like that all afternoon, until the moon came round again; and in its light she spun silk thread from her store and made a cloth; with it she wiped the dirt from his eyes and mouth, while he lay, drained.

She did this through the night, so occupied with caring, that she did not notice his amber eyes flicker. His voice startled her.

‘Thank you’ he said.

‘We are different.’ she replied, ignoring his gratitude.

And just before falling asleep he said,

‘We are more than that.'

I see you.

Tonight I looked at the moon in a different way.

Not like a painting or something from a story, mythical.

As a place. A place that it is.

It's always been there. Hanging, hovering, orbiting.

I've never seen America, I've never seen Ireland, I've never seen Bristol.

But I've seen the moon.

There it is, a place.

When does something become a place?

When you know you can go there?

I'm looking at the moon.