Sunset romance

A fragile as glass
Heartbeats slowing
As shadows run past

Twighlight’s fever
Purple bruises so dear
The pain of living
In love’s final sphere

Dusk is moaning
Orange passion now gone
Blues are holding
Vigil over love’s song

Night creeps over
The warmth of the sun
Ink is spreading
Love’s colours have run

Monday Coffee: Home

I have reached home.
Today I took the steps leading me to the future, the place I want to be. I sit here revelling in the feeling of achievement I so rarely get to enjoy and…I am in awe.

Sometimes wishing is not enough. Sometimes, settling only gets you so far. But I have to ask myself why, on this journey here, did I question the fundamental right of anyone to pursue more than what their goal is? I ridiculed the idea that pushing further would reap rewards of happiness and success equally. I postured the idealism that greed is the main source of pursuit, leading down a slippery slope to materialism and superficial lifestyles. I know it is. 

But here I sit. The hunger is dated. I have reached the point where I want to be and that gurgling murmur of delight escaping my lips is not one of greed or want; it’s the sound of knowing that taking the risk to reach my happiness was not complete madness.

My happy place: a wet log covered by a doggy sack to keep my posterior dry whilst I type this drivel. 

My view – exquisite! A soft clearing half way up a hill overlooking the valley of wild grass and heather below. The sound of crunching leaves behind me as Henry pursues the heady scents of foxes and birds in his happy state. I can’t say everything here is perfect. As I crossed the gulley surrounded by gorse bushes, I honestly thought I wouldn’t make it. But I did. And once in the clearing under the tall redwoods, my celebrations were greeted by a dead bird lying on the damp grass. Not to be dissuaded, I moved further away after praying for its little soul. Yes, if we have souls, so do the beasts that co-habit this earth. There, I found my log, riddled with woodworm and all things unpleasant. This is where I sit, content. 

Sometimes, pushing for those dreams is definitely worth it.

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Walkies with Henry

If only the two legged creatures in charge of the world were just as simple, just as breath-takingly beautiful as our surroundings; imagine what a wonderful world this would be.

I breathe in the serenity of my surroundings and exhale the abusive stature of man. 

 

Under a canopy of green, I watch the clouds play hide and seek against the blue.

Basking in the panorama unfolding before me, I run.

Free as a bird, I fly down the hills and through the valley of dancing dandelions that smell of fox and deer.

 

The light is fading from the day, changing what was once bright and blue to shades of grey.

I can taste the cool breeze; soon, all the birds I love to chase will find their nests, leaving me to the silence and chilly air. I stand there, up on the hill, watching the life drain from another day.

 

Until we meet again, under the azure sky, I will listen to the soft lullaby of the birds as they sing their babies to sleep and doze to the hum of the beetles’ wings on their journey home.

Good-night.

 

 

 

 

Autumn Berries and more

As I walk in the dewdropped field,

Berries shine brightly

Bobbing gently in the wind.

Dandelions down the furs,

Imagining their travels

So far afield to disperse

Their beauteous wish imagined.

Seeds lay abandoned next to crunchy leaves

Awaiting their upliftment on the welcoming breeze.

I watch the meadow sigh in delight

As fortold by their turning

Sleep written in their dying leaves

Till spring when they be awakened.

A Walk in the Park

Hello!  The garden is buzzing with busy bees but the park has a few beauties to share.  Walk with me…

Now if I’m not mistaken, this is Thistle.  I’ve always loved books about fairies and my favourite flower where the fairies hide would always be the Thistle.

Hidden in the shrubbery are these gorgeous open Roses.  Their bright pink faces dart into view whenever the wind sends shivers down the branches filled with greenery.
Pretty purple plants litter the side of the path as we walk Henry along the edge of the green.

Baby’s Breath blows gently in the wind, it’s delicate little flowers shimmering as each stalk bends and sways in a happy trance.

The promise of summer: raspberries starting to blush in thorny hedgerows hiding birds’ nests.
This prickly plant looks as if it’s related to the Zimbabwean BlackJack.  The tiny heads are barely noticeable among the grass and shrubs, but on closer inspection, they are just as gorgeous as any flower.
Wavering with the bodies of barley, grassy heads bob to and fro as the dance with delight to the invisible beat of breezy base drums.
I hope you enjoyed our walk together. Next week I hope my geraniums will have flowered so that I can share their pretty faces with you.

Have a lovely afternoon.

Great Zimbabwe

 We took a trip to Mazvikadai, a stunning place close to Chinhoyi where there are ponds for fishing just off the main lake.  It’s a resort, though I’ve never explored the residential side of it.

  From this picture you will deduce that they keep live crocodiles.  Now we were told stories of baby crocs stealing bait and attacking the fishing line of unwary fisherman and some family members even warned my younger sprogs to stay far from the water.  I didn’t believe them.  Surely, they wouldn’t allow you to fish with crocs? Boy, was I wrong!
   

 The crocodile enclosure spanned across two sides of the bridge crossing to the ponds, housing the most humongous specimens I have ever seen.  Basking in the hot sun without a care in the world, these creatures secretly watched us, their sparkling green eyes attuned to the slightest movements around them.  I warned my youngest to stay away from the fence dividing us from these gigantic creatures, but found myself drawn closer to their close proximity to the fence.  Some force enticed us to want to get closer, as though what we were seeing was too far fetched to believe.  

  

 My brother scoffed at us and moved us along to the pond where our equipment was being delivered from the car.  Yes, there are gentlemen there to carry your things so that you don’t have to struggle on your own along the jagged paths.

  Upon arrival at our own thatched gazebo housing a large picnic bench and overlooking the splendid pond, my sprogs started screaming.  Up in the ceiling, close to the beams was a giant spider with long black legs and a body, half white-half black.  It contentedly watched our chaotic reaction to its presence from a web intricately woven like a hanging basket amongst the beams.  After a deep breath I told them to just ignore it.  After all, we had seen similar spiders surrounding the lion enclosures at the lion and cheetah park.  They were supposedly harmless!

Once they got over the fact that we had company in the upper beams, they focused on the creatures flittering to and fro between the brickwork on the ground.  Another round of screams were released because of the large ants and small spiders!  I became impatient and told them to get a grip.  We couldn’t avoid all of nature.

  They settled down once we brought out the rods and big brother showed them how to load the worms in the hooks (something they refused to do themselves!). Soon, everyone had their own private spot around the pond.  The fish were very savvy; each time a line was cast, we watched them literally jump out of the way and dance to another safer spot in the pond.  Frustratingly, the tiddlers found it amusing to clean our bait off our hooks if we left the line in the water for too long. 

The day dragged on and the heat pounded down on our heads.  Accompanied by the sound of the various birds hidden in the reeds, the little kingfishers ducked and dived, barely catching the wily little buggers hidden just below the glassy surface of the water.  I grew tired of my spot under a tree.  The smell of fermenting water and the heavy buzz of flies behind me was off-putting, even if the spot was perfect for catching the Wile E. Coyote fish cooling themselves in the shadows cast over the water by the tree’s branches.  I moved back to our gazebo to join my brother who was frying up some boerwors (spicy sausages) as a snack.  

  He asked me to recast his fishing line which was drifting lazily in the semi-cool breeze towards the lily pads.  Excited to do it since he had a really nice sized rod, I hopped to the opportunity.  Unfortunately I underestimated the wind and my ability to cast a heavier rod; the hooks and line went straight past a tree that had fallen into the water and got caught in its branches.  Weirdly enough, this tree was still growing.

I apologised and promised to go retrieve his line.  Big mistake.  It’s only when you do something ridiculously dangerous that you realise how old you are.  I started climbing this tree, telling myself that I had done this a thousand times when I was younger.  

“Just keep your balance,” I muttered to myself, “and you’ll be fine.”

Well my vertigo set in and the green, murky water kept reaching up to grab me.  I decided all fours was the way to go and crawled along the crumbly trunk.  A thin branch was in the way so I batted it to one side, not noticing the sharp thorns poking out.  It was some kind of Acacia plant that was using the tree to support it.  There’s a special word for plants that do this, but it escapes me at this moment.

Long story short, I managed to crawl up to the slender branches jutting out into the water just as my brother reeled in the line.  Disentangling the hooks from the fine, feathered leaves of the tree set it free and I was able to return to the safety of dry land.  My arm was ripped by the thorns but that didn’t bother me as much as the threat of falling into the water.  Later that day, I saw a baby croc swimming further up the pond. I was very glad I hadn’t fallen in! 

 

After a lovely day basking in the sun like the crocs, we packed up and headed home.  I’m sure I saw the fish waving good-bye and laughing at us.  I didn’t mind.  The baby crocodiles swimming just behind them were smiling too! 

Morning has broken

Good morning.

I’ve been fortunate enough to capture the morning glory of nature on my walk today and thought I would share some pics with you.

  The sun reflecting off the yellow back of a Daffodil.
   
 Dewdrops on a purple Crocus.

  Colleen, this little hideaway reminds me of your fairies.  
   Henry, patiently waiting for me to take his photo.
 Our little forest.

Building A Tree – Building Imagination

For those of you who follow me on Facebook, you might be aware that I started building a tree earlier this year in the library where I work. Well, with a lot of effort and help from an amazing artist, Nicci, and my daughter, Savi, we finished her.  She now resides in her little alcove where we used to have an ICT suite, recumbent against a mural backdrop of a forest filled with dappled light and birch trees.  Her branches reach up to the ceiling and give the impression that she has broken through to find the blue sky above.

Some of the teachers and parents smile and nod when I try to explain why I would build a tree in a library and my answer is, why not?  We need to motivate our children to read and enjoy books.  What better way than bringing in a source of old stories, fairytales, adventures and the paper the books are printed on…a tree!  Putting it in such a simple way demeans the principle of Grandmother Tree’s existence.  She has created a space where children can laugh and play under the safety of her branches.  They cuddle Sir Sid Quirell, the resident squirrel and postman who helps deliver the letters written to children who have re-discovered the art of writing letters to their beloved tree. Grandmother Tree might understand technology, but relies on corresponding through the written word and pictures sent her way by the postbox next to her tree trunk.

The children are waiting to hear her story.  They want to know her age and what she has seen in her lifetime, the books she has read and whether or not she has met Dr Who!  Their excitement and fervour to write about themselves and their likes and dislikes encourage this old tree to share her tales.  When the time comes to comfort a child or calm the storm clouds threatening tantrums, what better way than sitting on the bench near her and discussing their troubles?

As a librarian, I try to encourage children to respect books, read them and return them to the library.  With Jabba the Postbox ready to accept returns and Grandmother Tree aware of the children’s efforts to read more, I have more books returning each week than I have had in the past two years running the library.  It’s a positive effect that is pleasing to teachers and children alike.  It reduces disappointment when they are refused a new book until they return their old one.

Yes, I realise that the novelty of having a tree in the library with slowly taper off.  But, as we reach a new season, she will change her leaves, adopt the persona of a snow queen or a cherry blossom as the seasons demand.  The carpet will soon turn green and lush with artificial grass so that the children can honestly be swept away from the world when they enter their own magical forest in their school library.  Now, who said a librarian’s job is boring!

Photo Friday

Bringing a little Autumn gladness.

My grapes are slowly turning a gorgeous purple. I feel I should water them more, but they seem content enough in the late September sun.

And of course, the unwelcome but necessary residents that have grown larger than life!

Hope you enjoy your Friday too. xx

Without A Name

The coolness of your lips touch my forehead
I feel the tingling softness of your touch
My body sways unconsciously forward
The thought of you being near me is never too much.

Slowly, your heart reaches out to me
I can hear it calling in the night
The moon turns her face away in jealousy
Leaving the stars to giggle in delight.

We dance together so merrily
Running across rivers so wide
My face can never be angry
When you are by my side.

We rest together in harmony
Admiring the flowers beside
Their beauty reflects in our faces so charmingly
Until in shyness, at sunset, they hide.

The sun watches on and smiles brightly
Together we have no shame
For we are young and happy
Two dewdrops without a name.

Copyright – all rights reserved – Eloise De Sousa (2013) published as My Poetry Book