Mar 2020
.. first page..
he wanted a love story.
unbelievable
the
deep pain she felt ; would **** her unless she did something.
unless she killed herself.
no!
walking helped, always her remedy in challenging times.
the feeling of going forward , air brushed. body moving; speeding & healing, even with fatigue & grief dragging back.
she yearned for a new page, a fresh beginning.
wren had the will to start over and needed a challenge, something else.
for 23 years she had gone along with how things panned out without question, mainly content with this.
now after that night , she thought it time to be proactive, to do something to counteract her loss.
a bus ride then, up to llanberis, up the mountain to trek . the place where her father was born and had lived all his life.
wren had moved away in her youth, a job had come up in liverpool in the arts and she was accepted. as before she went with the flow.
she had not gone back for long, only to see dad. she never visited the village or wandered the lanes, listened to the voices.
a place of slate, of stones.
she had felt apart there then.
then
her father’s voice was enough, thick with the local accent.
her speech was affected by her time in liverpool ; reverted back unintentionally when she crossed the border.
she knew how she looked even without glancing a mirror. small., thin, bedraggled & careless, reflecting her mood.
her dad had named her after the bird with her being so tiny at birth. her bones felt brittle now like that bird.
a bird’s name
a bird’s frame
the bus came.
always on time
she wondered how they managed that with all the distance, the hazards between. one driver explained that he worked it one stop to the next, his eye on the time.
she got on, showed her pass and said she was heading for snowdon
” is that all you got” he said, looking at her bag. most passengers would have more.
” it is all that i have , yes, it is all i have ” she said and in that moment the idea came.
while walking
she will look for the dunnock.
the little brown bird found down in the dirt.
not many on the bus; all spaced apart. the driver whistled through his teeth breaking the air, while wren inwardly pointed to all the familiar landmarks on the route. she wiped the window with the back of her coat sleeve to see better.
settled for a few hours’ travel, her mind drifting back, thinking on that life changing moment
when he had said he wanted a love story
he had wanted more description, she suggested one used imagination.
each chapter a day; each day a chapter, each chapter a bird.
each day a drawing*
.last page.
she wanted to find the dunnock,; she searched and found the dunnock.
“the dunnock died as all things die”
she chanted to herself while rocking.
yet yet
all had come round, come clear.
older now . body and mind.
she knew he had wanted a love story and while she imagined what he meant , she had found love in herself for this little thing.
the bird
which
now lay in her upturned palm. light ,still and hardly there yet very there. no weight in the little bones.
it had lived its time while she had watched daily.
the space between remembered.
he had been right when he told her that dunnocks were found down in the dirt.
a big man wearing binoculars looking for the hawfinch which frequented the yew trees by her father’s house.
she had stayed longer with dad than intended, explored the lanes this visit, stopped to hear the village voices.
this man had been a visitor and he was right.
there at the bottom of the hedge she had found it.
you have read what comes between these pages, the story of a spring into summer.
the story of a wren regaining hope.
that morning the letter came; she read that due to her long absence her job in liverpool had gone. at that moment she noted that her voice had changed back permanently with the border and the liver bird had flown.
she went to her dad at the gate and to the bird man; told him she would stay.
come home.
he touched her head lightly; the bird man also. the three walked back into the house together. they took the dead dunnock to preserve some how.
they closed the door.
you wanted a love story. this is now yours to keep. it is a gift.
snatches of a life of care.
the end page is shorter for most was said between.
he wanted a love story.
unbelievable
the
deep pain she felt ; would **** her unless she did something.
unless she killed herself.
no!
walking helped, always her remedy in challenging times.
the feeling of going forward , air brushed. body moving; speeding & healing, even with fatigue & grief dragging back.
she yearned for a new page, a fresh beginning.
wren had the will to start over and needed a challenge, something else.
for 23 years she had gone along with how things panned out without question, mainly content with this.
now after that night , she thought it time to be proactive, to do something to counteract her loss.
a bus ride then, up to llanberis, up the mountain to trek . the place where her father was born and had lived all his life.
wren had moved away in her youth, a job had come up in liverpool in the arts and she was accepted. as before she went with the flow.
she had not gone back for long, only to see dad. she never visited the village or wandered the lanes, listened to the voices.
a place of slate, of stones.
she had felt apart there then.
then
her father’s voice was enough, thick with the local accent.
her speech was affected by her time in liverpool ; reverted back unintentionally when she crossed the border.
she knew how she looked even without glancing a mirror. small., thin, bedraggled & careless, reflecting her mood.
her dad had named her after the bird with her being so tiny at birth. her bones felt brittle now like that bird.
a bird’s name
a bird’s frame
the bus came.
always on time
she wondered how they managed that with all the distance, the hazards between. one driver explained that he worked it one stop to the next, his eye on the time.
she got on, showed her pass and said she was heading for snowdon
” is that all you got” he said, looking at her bag. most passengers would have more.
” it is all that i have , yes, it is all i have ” she said and in that moment the idea came.
while walking
she will look for the dunnock.
the little brown bird found down in the dirt.
not many on the bus; all spaced apart. the driver whistled through his teeth breaking the air, while wren inwardly pointed to all the familiar landmarks on the route. she wiped the window with the back of her coat sleeve to see better.
settled for a few hours’ travel, her mind drifting back, thinking on that life changing moment
when he had said he wanted a love story
he had wanted more description, she suggested one used imagination.
each chapter a day; each day a chapter, each chapter a bird.
each day a drawing*
.last page.
she wanted to find the dunnock,; she searched and found the dunnock.
“the dunnock died as all things die”
she chanted to herself while rocking.
yet yet
all had come round, come clear.
older now . body and mind.
she knew he had wanted a love story and while she imagined what he meant , she had found love in herself for this little thing.
the bird
which
now lay in her upturned palm. light ,still and hardly there yet very there. no weight in the little bones.
it had lived its time while she had watched daily.
the space between remembered.
he had been right when he told her that dunnocks were found down in the dirt.
a big man wearing binoculars looking for the hawfinch which frequented the yew trees by her father’s house.
she had stayed longer with dad than intended, explored the lanes this visit, stopped to hear the village voices.
this man had been a visitor and he was right.
there at the bottom of the hedge she had found it.
you have read what comes between these pages, the story of a spring into summer.
the story of a wren regaining hope.
that morning the letter came; she read that due to her long absence her job in liverpool had gone. at that moment she noted that her voice had changed back permanently with the border and the liver bird had flown.
she went to her dad at the gate and to the bird man; told him she would stay.
come home.
he touched her head lightly; the bird man also. the three walked back into the house together. they took the dead dunnock to preserve some how.
they closed the door.
you wanted a love story. this is now yours to keep. it is a gift.
snatches of a life of care.
the end page is shorter for most was said between.
