Readying recovery

Trying to find lucidity.
Cupping thoughts in my hands.
Fallen from my eyes.
Lost treasure.
Stolen preciousness.
The soul acting like a window.
Allowing them inside to steal, to rearrange.
Feeling lost, yet knowing where I’m trapped.
Ghosts lay upon my skin.
Licking at the wounds.
Drinking them all in.
The moments and memories.
Webs of pain strung up by circumstance.
When was I ever allowed to breathe.
To feel the sun on my skin.
Without the chill from a passing cloud of consequence.
Must we break free from the circle.
Or does it allow us to begin again.
Lighter than before, once all demons are dropped.
Lifting to the sky where we once belonged.

Blue of a bruise (again and again)


THE BLUE OF A BRUISE

Idling of the blood stream.
Brightening those nightmares that shudder.
Twisting in and out of focus.
The mind finding reference points.
All chalky talk and eye darting.
Searching the door to find new weather.
Trust seems lost again.
Blue skies clouded like the eyes of God closing.
Tearing in the rains of revelation.
Words struck the vein.
The devil tastes the pain.
What part is called to be diminished?
Swallowing in a rapture, that unpicks the scars.
A lie to curdle the blood.
A pain to feel alive once more.
Do you know the lungs want to sing?
Padded with angel feathers they heave in lament.
The soul siphoned away, bottled like wine.
Death’s most beautiful throw.
Snatching things, before they grow.

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The Blue of a bruise

Idling of the blood stream.
Brightening those nightmares that shudder.
Twisting in and out of focus.
The mind finding reference points.
All chalky talk and eye darting.
Searching the door to find new weather.
Trust seems lost again.
Blue skies clouded like the eyes of God closing.
Tearing in the rains of revelation.
Words struck the vein.
The devil tastes the pain.
What part is called to be diminished?
Swallowing in a rapture, that unpicks the scars.
A lie to curdle the blood.
A pain to feel alive once more.
Do you know the lungs want to sing?
Padded with angel feathers they heave in lament.
The soul siphoned away, bottled like wine.
Death’s most beautiful throw.
Snatching things, before they grow.

Girl on the mountain

“Hang on, we’ll get there soon.”  She said, changing gear as the car struggled up the road.

The incline was harsh, and the trees that surrounded them hid the true dominance of the hills in this area. They had been travelling for nearly three hours and they were all tired, having gotten up so early for the journey. This part of the country was new to them all, and as the car snaked its way up through the trees, they were eager to see the open hills and valleys that they’d been told to expect.

Jessica rolled down the window in the backseat, letting the cool air and murky smell of the woods flood the car. She’d told nearly everyone at school she was going away for a few days, off to Wales and to hopefully see a dragon. They’d laughed and joked with her, taking the real reason for the trip away from her mind where it had only rested gently and fleetingly. She promised to bring them back something Welsh, though she didn’t know what that could be.

“Don’t get too cold back there.” Rachel said, shivering herself, changing gear once more. Their little car struggled against the demands of the road, but it had not failed them yet. Rachel had only been here once, back when she was a very small child, and she remembered nothing of it. Her grandmother had always visited them. It seemed selfish of her now, in all those years she’d never visited her in return here. Now, with her body about to be placed into the ground, she’d set forth to the soil that Amelia called home.

They suddenly burst through the trees as the car rounded a bend, a huge drop on one side bedded a stream nestled at the bottom, all grey and motionless. The brightness dazed her momentarily, and she blinked repeatedly as she drove on, the white and grey sky sprawling out over the huge expanse before them.

Richard tucked the map back into the glove compartment. He’d dug it out from an old box they’d kept in the spare room, the room where most things got dumped in their house. They’d found it useful, but they were nearly there now, and a signpost showed that in 14 miles they would make it to their destination. He’d also found the map made him feel useful, reading it as they had travelled, pointing out the sites along the way to Jessica. Not being able to drive made him feel a bit useless from time to time, even though Rachel enjoyed it. He reached down the side and retrieved the bag of sherbet lemons and offered the bag back to Jessica, who took one out and popped it into her mouth. He took one too, offering it to Rachel who said no thanks, so he ate it himself and ruffled the white bag closed and placed it back down the side, licking off the powder from his fingers.

“No dragons yet.” He said, aiming the words back at Jessica. She kicked his chair playfully.

“Nanna Amy once told us about one which slept in the mine near the village. She said the workmen had to send a sheep into the cave to distract it while they worked.” Rachel said, catching Jessica in her rear-view mirror.

“What happened to the sheep?” She asked, somewhat alarmed.

“Well, it usually came ambling out at the end of the day, I think it just used to get chased around the caves.” Rachel said, grinning.

“Must be a playful dragon, or not interested in eating sheep!” She said, looking out the window now as they began to head down into the valley.

Jessica watched as the green and grey flashed before her, she could see huge hills off in the distance. The trees seemed sparce, but little fluffs of them peppered the area, much like green sheep caught up high.

“What time is the service again?” Richard asked, turning to look at Rachel just as a light rain began to splatter the window.

“Oh no, not rain.” She said, turning on the wipers.

“It’s Wales, what did you expect?” He said, and she smiled.

“I was hoping to get there before we got caught in any rain, these roads might be tricky in wet weather. Urm, 3 o’clock is the service but they want us there at 2.30. I know aunty Glad wants to get us settled, and to show us off no doubt before.” She said, the wipers increasing now as the light rain had turned suddenly heavy.

Jessica watched as a huge bank of dark clouds rolled in above them. A car passed them on the other side, the first one they’d seen in a while, it’s headlights on now in the rain. She looked out across the valley once more, following the line of the hills with her finger on the windowpane, breathing on it to mark her way.

“Hey, what’s that?” She said, tapping the glass.

They all looked to the left, though Rachel only for a moment before returning her eyes back to the road.

“I’m not sure, why would….” Richard began, and Jessica added.

“There’s someone at the top of the hill, they have a fire.” She said, squinting to make them out in the rain and the distance.

“Why would someone be out in this weather on the top of a hill?” Rachel asked, noting the sign whizz by. Nearly there.

“Well, they are it seems. The flame is struggling in the wind though.” Richard said, and as he did the little flame seemed to burst a bit brighter for a moment, a beacon atop the hill.

“That’s really weird.” Jessica said, her window now rolled up as the rain had come in too heavy.

They carried on, leaving the hill behind them until Rachel made a left, turning off towards the village. Richard could still see the hill with the person on it as the car trundled down a rough road, skimming over the stream they had followed along. Soon enough they had arrived, the stone cottages and buildings littered their way as if giant rocks had been dropped from the sky, and the people below had carved houses out of them.

They all sat inside Pen-y-Waun, Aunt Gladys’s little cottage which looked out to the moor. Jessica munched on the custard creams that Gladys had placed on a very delicate little plate, while her mum sipped her tea.

“You call that heavy, nothing but a little spit of rain.” Gladys said, dunking a biscuit herself into her bone China cup. Jessica noticed the pattern, a little brown dragon curving around the side with trees and flowers decorating the edges.

“Well, it was hard to drive the last few miles. It was fine most of the way.” Rachel said, nestling her cup on her knee.

“Weather for a funeral, tears from God. Amy would’ve hated a clear day. Still, at least you made it safe. Remember any of it?” She said, asking Rachel.

Rachel shook her head.

“You were young, surprised if you could remember, though not much to remember really. But you were happy, always a smiling child. And your brother, good kids.” She said, but at the mention of her brother Rachel slunk down in her seat a little. “So, you’re here until next week then?”

“Oh, no just a couple of days. Don’t want to impose.” Richard said.

“You’re family, there’s no imposing. Stay as long as you like, be nice to have a few more faces around here to be honest. They all seem to be dropping off. God rest ‘em.” Gladys said, reaching for another biscuit.

“Are there many in the village then?” Richard asked.

Gladys pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up her nose, licking the crumbs of the biscuit away before speaking.

“When the mines were working, loads of us here. Now, most of the cottages are empty half the time. They rent them out for holidayers now, getting them all up from Bristol and the like. Come here for the quietness. Hmph!” she said.

“Is it not so quiet then?” Jessica asked, and Gladys cast her a curious smile.

“Jessica has heard about the Welsh dragons.” Rachel said, smiling.

“Dragons eh, I could tell you some tales. But that’s not what makes this place what it is.”

“Is it the person on the hill, with the flame? Is it for the dragons?” Jessica said, sitting forward in her chair.

Gladys put her cup down.

“It’s nearly quarter too, we best be getting a move on.” She said, hauling her large frame up out of her chair. Jessica knew when grown ups didn’t want to talk about something, but she felt suddenly invisible there in that little cottage.

The wind had picked up as they walked across to the small church. Most were already inside, but a few were making their way down the road towards the little building which stuck up on a ridge at the top of the village. Richard and Rachel walked slowly up towards the building, following Gladys who waved solemnly to the others as they came.

She suddenly put her arm around Jessica and pulled her in close, almost swaddling her in her black jacket.

“You saw the girl then?” She asked her, almost in a whisper. Jessica’s eyes lit up.

“A girl was it, a girl then?” She asked.

“Yes, she’s a girl alright. The girl of the mountain.  You are lucky to see her.” She said, slowing her pace as they got closer to the church.

“What’s she doing, who is she?” Jessica asked.

“That is a hard thing to answer. No one knows who she is, but we know why she is there. Not many outsiders see her, course she usually isn’t there in the day. You must be more connected to this land then you realise.” She touched the girl’s chin kindly, flicking it with her crinkled thumb.

“Why is she there with a fire, is it to do with dragons?” She asked. Gladys shook her head.

“No, nothing to do with dragons. She is there to light the way; she is a beacon when there is sorrow in the village. Amy, your great grandmother was much loved here, she was a spark of joy and happiness in this little corner of the world, this grey world which can feel quite foreboding. The girl of the mountain is there to remind us that everything will be okay, that there is light even in the darkness.” She said, profoundly.

“But who is she, is she a ghost? Jessica asked, curious.

“She is something that perhaps doesn’t need explaining, she is there to remind us to spark our own light in the rain and fog of life.” She replied.

“So, everything will be good again, after the loss and the pain?” Jessica asked. Gladys looked down at her.

“You are beyond your years aren’t you. You’ll have to visit more often; I like company that has its head screwed on right. But yes, things will be good again, this will pass.” She said, and they made their way into the small church with Rachel and Richard following up behind.

“It’s cold isn’t it, shame about the rain.” Rachel said, stepping up the steps.

“It is, but the organ music is somewhat cheerful considering. Nothing sombre which is nice.” He took her hand, and for some reason they stopped and looked around them. Through the rain and the clouds, they could see a little smudge of yellow, dancing off in the distance. They did not know it, but the girl on the mountain was singing as her flame burned on through the weather. Sweet words of redemption and hope.

Wind is strong, but don’t you sway.
The pain is heavy but will give way.
This light I bare will warm your heart.
All’ll be right, begin from the start.


 

Particular illusions

To sleep under the stars, and to count the heavens.
A result of you burning my bed.
I lie on the cool grass and watch out for comets.
Racing from Olympus to Paradise.
I pulled off the ropes and entanglements.
Escaping with my life, but not my soul.
And now the clouds that cover the milky way.
Blotting out the moon.
Is just the smoke, from the ashes of our home.
Yet suddenly you appear, covered in moon dust.
With starlight diamonds in your eyes.
And you take my hand, and tip the sky over.
Shaking out the stars.
Promising me treasure to be found from our ruins.

Who let in the rain?

Underneath that crystal water
Of crushed stars and dreams.
Dwelling like a memory that won’t die.
Lies a soul.
Frayed and tattered.
Filled with thoughts of eucalyptus leaves and saffron.
Tide up in heartstrings and self-made knots.
Tackling the torrents soundlessly.
To drown silently in a rising tide.
This was their gift to you.
Keeping the truth and the pain out of your eyes.
Packing soot and coal into the sockets.
Trembling inside and yet still.
Like a sewn up teddy bear.
All glass eyed reflective.
Placid.
Who let that rain in, to wash the hope away?
Deluged in dopamine and on the brink of decay.
Each drop inched closer.
Under the door and down their spine.
Exploding the sky with a grey that blocked out heaven.
God made the rain, the floods and the tide.
To wash away the sinners, the soulless and already sunken.
Yet she was always destined to float.
Catching stars in pockets and wiping the salvation across our mouths.
But the rain came in.
Straw ladened and camel shaking.
Soaked in misery and shame.
And now she is lost under the surface.
Ripped away in the undertow.
Growing gills and thicker skin.
Crashing on someone else’s shore.

Forever winter (Part 19)

The Story so far or Listen to this episode


in the blink of an eye

Darkness came, not brought on by any magical element but by the celestial dance of the sun and the moon. They had been walking for a long time now, and as the sun had slipped into its slumber, the trees around them awoke with nocturnal noises and eyes.

On they went, the girl from Europa fascinated by what she saw and what she felt. She could sense the determination, the spirit and also the slightest traces of fear in her companions. The lady of the jars was caught in-between feelings herself; she was anxious yet controlled, she also took some joy on their little expedition as it had been some time since she’d had a real adventure.

“Why did you leave Europa?” Ezra asked the girl suddenly, looking down from casting his eye to the sky above which was peppered with stars and clouds. The girl smiled at him.

“Many reasons led to my departure. I had become trapped by my life there in some ways, too big for it all.” She spoke. The lady nodded.

“Like a plant that outgrows it’s pot.” She offered. The girl looked at her, unsure.

“Don’t confuse things.” Ezra said, batting away her comment with his hand.

“We keep some plants in pots, indoors. Not like these wild ones here.” The lady said, casting her own hand around the wood.

“Oh, yes we do the same. Though they are more like creatures than plants, but we keep them in S’imboks, like crystal containers. They perfume and colour the air inside.” The girl said, almost thinking on it still.

“Like keeping a bird in a cage, sometimes the plant needs to fly.” The lady said.

“Now you’re mixing metaphors! Stop confusing things.” Ezra snapped.

“I’m just offering the notion that she outgrew her surroundings.” The lady said, curtly.

“We know that but let her finish at least.”

The girl smiled, she liked how they bickered.

“Well, yes I had outgrown a lot. But there was also a calling. A need to come here. Something was pulling me, a force that I feel stronger now I’m here.” She said, her skin suddenly shivered a dramatic red, her tealness flashing a crimson like a fish darting suddenly. “There was also another….” She began, but she stopped speaking as they had reached a break in the trees.

What struck them all was the moon, not the stone. It hovered off in the distance, bright and beaming, almost purposefully avoiding the clouds which rolled around it. It cast down a brilliant glow unto the snow which washed across the land before them. All except the stone. This was free of any snow, indeed the area surrounding it was clear and dry as if an invisible dome had been placed above it. Around them the trees lined the space in a horseshoe fashion, the stone in the centre. Towards the other side the land fell away onto a cliff’s edge, down to a valley below. It seemed to open up into the sky, but closer to the edge you would see off over the valley and the frozen rivers and lakes, the snow topped trees and the mountains beyond. By daylight you would also see the extent of the magic from her jars, as the snow faded off in the distance, blurring into a sandy threat of a desert.

The stone indeed did look much like a huge peach pit, almost oval in it’s form it dug into the ground from the narrowest tip, suspended upwards against gravity. At the right angle it could be seen as the shape of a heart. It dominated the space, at the height of the surrounding trees it caught the brilliance of the moonlight, reflecting off its mahogany colouring, more like wood than a stone.

“It’s wonderful.” The girl said, transfixed by the huge stone.

There was a silence that permeated the area before them, a quiet hush like that of a church. The girl was almost afraid to step forth, but the lady of the jars strode forth and the girl followed suit.

“This is such a sacred place, but the stone itself is a tool, a beacon even. It transmutes the energy and the magic from above and below. The good and the bad. Energy does not discriminate.” She said.

“How old is it?” The girl asked, moving towards it like a spectre, her eyes wide and her mind eager.

“About as old as she is.” Ezra said, looking around the edges of the trees, watching for movement or signs of danger.

The lady shook her head.

“Be serious and respectful you.” She said to Ezra, before continuing. “This stone is timeless, as is the magic. From time to time people come here to restore their own power, their own magical supply. It’s like a huge battery. But it can do many things.” She said as they approached the stone now.

The ground around it suddenly felt odd without the blanketing of snow they had become used to. The ground was dry and green, even in the moonlight it seemed to breathe out in its luxury of life. The girl noticed a pattern upon the stone, spiralling around and glistening, she noticed, in the light.

“Can I touch it?” the girl asked suddenly, almost surprised herself?

“Of course, yes do. No harm to be done. It belongs to everyone.” The lady said, setting her bag down on the grass and rummaging for something.

“Shouldn’t we…” Ezra began, but just as he said this the girl had reached up, her fingers drawn to the stone like a magnet.

Afterward, Ezra would say he heard what sounded like crystals smashing. The lady said she heard nothing but the whoosh of something giant above her. In the blinding light that exploded from the stone when the girl touched it, they both stumbled backwards falling to the ground. The space was enveloped in the light which seemed to splinter like a diamond, radiating shards of brilliance all around them. Though they could not see, the girl herself was cut through by this light. It did not travel within her but seemed to slice her into a thousand pieces. These pieces hung there for a moment before shooting upward, they span around the stone three times before disappearing into the top like a genie returning to its lamp.

Once the light had faded, both the lady and Ezra sat on the ground staring at the space where the girl had once been.

“What the hell was that?” Ezra said, blinking erratically to try and see through the light stains in his eyes. The lady sat, calculating what had happened.

“That, I think, was something very good or very bad for us. But it was not unexpected.” She said, quietly.

“What, you knew something like this would happen?” Ezra asked.

“Not exactly. But I cannot say there wasn’t a chance of this.” She said, now pushing herself up.

“Where is she?” He asked, a little trace of panic in his voice.

“That…I am not sure of just yet.” She replied, helping him up also.

“Wonderful.” He said sarcastically, almost used to her approach to matters.

“It is really. I’ve never seen it do that.” She said with a small curious smile.

The magical process of the disappearance of the girl from Europa was a coming together of many things. The old magic that lay in the stone and the world, the kineticness of her own energy brought to the planet across starry space. The moonlight and the zodiac position of the astral bodies. The makeup of the girl’s body, pressured in Earth’s atmosphere, and the consciousness of the girl herself who was longing to change and evolve. All these things came together that night at the Mondol stone. There was a book, kept at the back of a dusty bookshelf in the house of Jaered (The candle keeper). In this book there foretold all these happenings, from the girl’s arrival to her emersion into the stone. Prophecies are tricky things at the best of times, but all that took place was indeed there on those pages, tucked at the back. Jaered never knew of this of course, or he would have been very excited about what was taking place and would naturally know how it would all end. As it was, he didn’t and slumbered blissfully unaware many miles away from them, dreaming of cheese scones and pickle.