Go, do something wonderful today, she said.
But the news was bleak
and the day was grey,
and I feared
I had lost my sense of wonder.
Now, where the sun sinks
and shadows stretch across the sand
we journey as children:
climbing sun-baked rocks,
searching for tigers in the long grass
over the hill.
a stone whale beached forever
on that evening shore,
chase fearsome crocodiles through shallow waters
and vanquish a dreadful crab
that tiptoes away to hide.
Then, as the first star appears,
we lie in warm seas.
sand beneath our nails,
toes washing out to sea,
we drift gently,
rocked on the rising tide.
Just a small thought for the day – for all those who feel weighed down by life
Those who carry
by Anna Kamienska
Those who carry grand pianos
to the tenth floor wardrobes and coffins
an old man who with a bundle of timber limps beyond the horizon
a woman with a hump of nettles
a madwoman pushing a pram
full of empty vodka bottles
they will all be lifted
like a gull’s feather like a dry leaf
like an eggshell a scrap of newspaper
Blessed are those who carry
for they shall be lifted.
I’ve been thinking some more about this idea of the trail we leave behind.
A bit like Roxanne was saying over at brandnumber1– once you start down a line of thinking, you tend to see it everywhere.
Out walking today I discover this too was ever thus – we’ve been carving our names into our environments for a very long time …
JR loves LJ. Thirroul Beach, 2012. Catherine Hughes.
Ship Samuel Plimsoll. Quarantine Station, 2012. Catherine Hughes.