Gossamer

The gossamer thread
that holds
the living to the dead.

Before conception - what?
Last breath then - where?
Floating and tied

with gossamer
thread.

Oh how I wish that

I could come back as a flower

Walking out

The old man struggled determinedly to put his clothes on, though his hands shook and his fingers fumbled; the nurses and the doctor, at the far end of the ward, had their backs to him. He tucked his shirt into the gaping waistband of his trousers. A nurse, half turning, caught sight of him and rushed across the ward. "Please! Getback to bed! You shouldn't be sitting, let alone standing and out of bed!" He stared her down, as the other medical staff followed her to surround him. "I'm leaving". A chorus of "you can't!" " you're too sick" and "please let me help you back into your pyjamas and back into bed".

"I'm leaving. My mind is sound, even if my body is not. I reject this ward. I reject your treatment. I'm leaving". And taking his jacket over his arm, the old man walked, slowly, with difficulty, to the doors at the end of the ward. He stepped out into the corridor, and was gone.

I never saw him again, but his words ran round and round like a loop of film as I lay in the bed, weak, powerless, vulnerable. And I determined I'd do just as he had. And now, six months later, I'm walking out of Ward 5, against the odds, in defiance of their prognosis, I'm walking towards a life they told me I'd never have.

1973

Sitting cross legged in the hall,
listening to Mr Slater's assembly,
in the tall, redbrick assembly hall
at the centre of the school. And,
at the centre of the room, the
black square, where the maypole went.
When it was time. And before it was time, where we stripped to our pants and vests, for "music and movement".
Ah. Those days. Playtime, and the black square where naughty boys and girls were made to sit. Naughty boys. Naughty girls. 1973.

In the headlights

Driving home from dinner, and the sky
dark now, (finally,) at 10pm. Passing under Carrig, the headlights catch,
and startle, three young deer. They circle for a moment or two as the car comes to a stop, then leap away, into the fields, and the dark. It's been a long day - and we're tired. Still - THREE!
They're gone now, leaving a satisfied glow,
and home we go.

In the deep wood
A broken bridge
Not worth mending

Spring - finally!