Monday, 28 November 2005

Did you miss me, me?
Forgive me again, yada yada.

Did you know we've moved house? I bet you didn't.

Over to the next suburb, closer to the train station and shops. Up a long driveway at the top of a slight rise in the landscape, with no hills to shade us. In a half-old, half-new house which has mostly big rooms, enough of them for us each to have a craft/computer/study kinda room. My bedroom is the old lounge, with a wee sunroom attached. The whole place is a bit rumpty, especially the garden, but it has more useful space than we've had in a long time, and it's great for the cats. (What else in life is more important?)

Self-transport has been on another looooong hiatus. Wethinks it might be a problem based on cheap, bad petrol that the bike can't handle, so the tank has been drained and refuelled. The one test drive I've done so far was fine. Which is to say it behaved... however, I'm starting to think more about trying my hand at car driving. I just dunno if I enjoy being on two wheels any more. There have been so many obstacles in the course of my motorcycle education that one has to wonder if Someone is trying to discourage me for reasons of their own. We shall see.

Our family has finally, after a battle lasting longer than a year, received our inheritance from (great) Aunty Dot. This also has contributed to our recent stressing and destressing cycles. We've been waiting for this barrier to come down, and it has affected our branch of the family strongly. Now we can afford to buy things which we've needed for a long time; Dad can continue his education full-time; we can stay here for some time to come. I will soon be generously gifted with several thousand dollars with which I will start a savings account, and perhaps buy myself a few useful things, and/or pay off my various debts and credit cards. *collective sigh of relief*

Jewellery continues sluggishly. I have one, and may soon have two, commissions going this week. Yesterday I made myself an elegant and simple necklace of honey coloured, beautifully and unusually faceted beads (of which I treated myself with a whole strand) with graduated intervals of clear silver-lined seeds and bugles. Photograph soon. I will most likely use the rest to make a long, decadent, twisty necklace of facets interspersed with two or three stands of varyingly sized seed beads. Dad suggests that I speak to my favourite bead shop owner about a large order, something like wholesale, to get a real foothold for my modest beading business. So far it's been too modest.

Since moving and having the space to go through most of my stuff, I've found scraps of paper and little notebooks with several forgotten poems from various times in the last five years. They may be a bit scatterbrained, like me. I will share them with you now.


Ill sun disc shines clear:
Beaten copper behind haze;
Smoke floats on night breeze.


People shiver at the touch of cold
and mourn quietly for fragile leaves falling:
Golden, orange, crimson.
A lone faery, perhaps native of warmer months,
leans on the mottled bark of a tree
and extends its sympathy with hushed words and soft embrace.

But the tree knows,
and waits.

A man stands by the sandy shore
gazing out over the water,
wondering where the horizon leads.
He imagines the ability to breathe
as fishes do, to explore
the caverns of life under the lapping waves.
A small sigh escapes his lips and the water gently echoes.

And the sea keeps its secrets,
and smiles.


Goddesses, guide me.
Spirits, lend me your wisdom.
Stones, speak now to me.

Just for a moment:
Faint glimpses to reassure and
Light the path I walk.


Trying on different skins
that do not fit
and want me gone.
Walking amidst masks
which are less alien
than the strange folk underneath.
Too many people
attracted to the hive of activity
but we are of a different polarity

And so we go.

Streaking down the white scar of road
into the enfolding arms of a valley,
hillsides wrought by invisible hands
as god's most marvellous tapestry.

And I can be happy
just to see grassy slopes
rippling in the wind
under blue skies.


angry gestures
scratch the spirit skin
trying to let out what's in
illucid frustrations
come out as too many sighs
let bygones go by

~ posted by Anna @ 9:32 PM