My Colourful Road
I used to see pink blossoms swaying against blue skies so free But I’d look into my speckled greens and see I wasn’t me I sometimes walked in yellow when the sun would finally shine
Pride of Dance
Swish, I’m dancing Kilt is swinging I am colour flying Exhilarating heights of crimson red With pride I hold my head
Wandering Whisky and Brandy Encounters
My life was deliberately isolated this summer. Being made redundant should have been a disaster, and in fact it was in many ways, but I had almost welcomed the end of the daily city rat race. Driving out of the city to the beach, I did my usual walk to re-centre at the ocean. The rental sign was sitting there almost obscured by the beach grass. If the wind hadn’t been blowing at just the right angle, and I hadn’t passed by at just the right time, I may not have seen it. It was meant to be. I called, viewed it and moved in. I had longed to spend real time on my book experimenting with my recipes, finally putting my culinary education to work. The house had a ‘to die for kitchen’ for me to hide away and work in all summer.
Slipped through my Fingers
It is like trying to hold on to a gentle breeze or slowly drifting smoke from a burnt-out candle, unable to be grasped at it follows its own path or its own ability to fade away. I still feel my breath, catching deeper and tighter as I think of the loss I feel. My heart already has a hole in it where joy used to live. Tears can come so quickly, as if the loss has to escape before it takes over every cell in my body. The next moment, with the help of a clenched jaw, it settles back down menacingly waiting for the next trigger.
Spencer and Elsie Charals had started their trip around the world six months ago, when they had quit their jobs, sold their home and bought a 30-foot sailing yacht. The fast pace of working upwards of 70 hours a week had got to both of them. They knew that it was a risky move, but they were confident that they’d never regret taking the time while they were young enough to do it. There fully stocked yacht had enough supplies to last 3 months at a time. As they were heading to Greece, they had hit bad weather in the Mediterranean Sea and had to divert to the closest port of entry in Palermo, Sicily, known for its history with corrupt mafia.
A BLEEDING HEART
It was another day of sitting in the living room of the almost 40-year-old house. The photographs framed on the wall were a testament to the people that she had had the privilege of meeting throughout the years. She scanned the familiar, yet still intriguing, photographs and got lost in the photograph of the face of a young girl with beautiful brown eyes speckled with gold. She had a mischievous, yet shy smile. Anne smiled to herself. “The beginning of everything,” she thought. She grabbed the very top small black note book off of the stack of moleskine notebooks on the shelf. Each notebook bore testament to her travels and the endeavors she had made to make the world a little bit of a better place.
The forest swayed gently in the wind as the clouds that floated above Melanie invited her to jump across them. The forest at the edge of the Charals Estate was the most enchanted place. To Melanie, the sparkling dew on the trees in the early morning looked like fairy jewels that added to the magic of the morning.