Thoughts On Trying To Write A Book.

A strange few weeks.


After a long period of barren-headedness, a forced dry pen scratching against my brain,
urging me to write, to find the words I know lie in the strange warren that is my mind, but that somehow escape me, I find a little door at last.
And though once inside I find my story waiting, it seems the door has closed behind me!

So I am consumed. 

Voices clamour to be heard, some real, some imagined, and as plot lines are revealed to me and I marvel and wonder, stealing moments to scratch out some lines, I find my world to be strangely cocooned, with all other poetry fleeing into the day, and a week goes by with no blog updates. 

A sorry state. And one I must amend!

So. I've been looking outward, enjoying those extra few minutes of light in the evening that somehow bring an extra spring to your step. And loving the air that seems to puff up around everything, like a courting bird, it's feathers against your skin like a caress, a promise of summer. And even though it's barely a whisper that flees into the darkness when it arrives, it still lingers like a memory, hiding in the little buds that loom out of the night, tapping on the window, hiding in the night air that no longer nips and tugs and sneaks in through folds in your clothes.

And somehow, I have to make it work, that I can find a way to have two worlds within me that can co-exist with room for one another. 

And I am thankful for the things that both inspire and ground me. 

My children. Who always ground me!

 Gigi over at The Magpie's Fancy. For being in a similar boat and throwing occasional floats!

And my soundtrack, my music, without which... I can't even begin to imagine. It holds me up and helps me soar, always there, always inspiring. 

For something remarkable and tremendous have a look at my latest post on ~Carnival~. It's my gift to you...

My Equinox Baby.

My Equinox Baby, now you are three!!
I wonder what it is about being the Smallest?

That requires you to be the one who draws on walls?
The one who pulls pages out of books, and decides
it would be a splendid idea to put the whole, entire loo roll down the loo?
The one who quietly, meticulously deconstructs your brothers lego creations?
And the one who swung the kitten by his tail?

And all done with the sweetest, most angelic face, 

those big blue eyes that melt your heart.

How can we ever, ever be cross?

Because it wasn't you! 

No, you tell us it's the other boy, 

a mysterious other boy named 'Lukey'.

But it's your kindness with your friends,

your sweet disposition that tends towards giggles 

and a desire to have fun!

Your insatiable appetite for for figuring out the world.

These are the things that we love about you,

the things that make us all agree

you have to be The Cutest Thing On Two Legs!

Happy Birthday B!

~*~

And now to mix it up a little,

because things have not been usual here for the last little while: 

our week in pictures!

A walk on Wednesday, after the parade
saw us lost in our very own town!
Quite enjoyable, though too much for some little legs.

A small town parade, reminds me of how it used to be for us as kids.

The quiet sounds of hungry children eating,
humming through their munching, like crickets,
spoons scraping against bowls.

Her slow progress through her food is
lost in medieval courts and words.

Out walking we found these little pieces of someone's story.
Someone's childhood.

Blue.
Impossible blue.

How could I forget the funfair!!

Hale And Hearty At Last!

Hello all! I am back on my feet, hale and hearty and well rested. Thank you all so much for you kind words of concern, words of advice, and general good wishes. They were much appreciated!

While I was laid up, literally on my back for four days at it's worst, I found myself having to relinquish pretty much everything that I do, and I can tell you it was quite an eye-opener:

I never knew I was a control freak! But I am. And it was rather humbling to have to sit back and allow other people to do things for me. Imagine. You have no idea how hard that was!

As someone who rarely tires, it is difficult to know when I am actually doing too much, and I am usually amused when people tell me I do. But I guess the body is pretty good at letting us know when we are ignoring it. And then we have no choice but to listen.

So yesterday was a lovely treat, to go into our local town for the parade, and to be able to walk around and feel the sun on my face. I can tell you I felt very grateful.

So I'm back in Blogland again. And we have a very special little birthday coming up here in the Milkmoon household. So it's hat off and sleeves rolled up as we all dig in to help prepare for it. 

And again, thank you all. I was heartened by your comments and by your concern. You make my day!

Thank you!

A Short Note Of Apology.

This is the kind of weather we've been having.
Every day.

And since I took these photos I have been laid up with my back.
So this is me checking in.
And apologising for my absence, both here and on your blogs.
I miss you all!

These were taken on the same beach as the stormy ones a few posts below,

a beautiful cold, sunny morning as I waited to see the Osteopath and I thought I was better. 

But unfortunately I've been struck down again!

I promise to be back as soon as I can.

The Child That Books Built.

To books in a moment.

But first, it's been a very slow week this week, due mainly to me putting my back out last weekend and having to go at a snails pace. I know this is no bad thing, and in many ways it's my body giving me a very strong message to slow down, do less.

In spite of my discomfort, I have been thoroughly enjoying the arrival of spring. Instead of rising in darkness each morning, I get up to the beginnings of dawn, to beautiful cool blue skies and blooming tangerine tinged clouds, the quiet garden a palette of jade like an opaque frosty painting through my window. And the moon on it's way to bed, a stripy orange tiger moon slung low over the pink mountaintops, sinking away into tomorrow, barely saluting the sun as it sidles up over the sea, beginning the day.

And the day holds a ghostly haze over itself, softening the distant view, blurring and blending in pale hues that stir up memories of distant shores and other stories we made.

All week I have been held afloat by stories. Stolen moments that are little snapshots that form a curiously familiar resonance. As I am forced to pause, letting the carousel slow and gradually stop, I see My Only Girl unknowingly follow in my childhood footsteps, her unquenchable thirst for books, for new stories, taking her path in eager, single-minded directions. And I am amazed to see a confidence, only recently acquired, as she purposefully navigates her way through the doors and out into the world where she can go after what she wants, and boy is she persistent!

And so, surrounded by piles of books, bought, borrowed, received, and in between high spirited, busy socialising, she submerges herself in other worlds, and no world is left unexplored.

And for myself, my strange book famine continues, with my usual pile of bedside books left lying, gathering dust, while stories stream out of my head in an unstoppable torrent. An interior world now populated by people whose voices I cannot quiet. 

Yet though I do not read for myself, each day ends with a little row of heads on my pillows, and the soft rustle of pages turning as eager faces listen quietly, and they hear about Mole and Ratty and Toad, and Gulliver, and Aladdin, and Alice. And as the book closes softly, and night draws around us, I marvel at the power of the tale, the fathomless, resounding chimes that each one creates deep inside the heart of a child. A staggering wealth that is created in a place so deep I wonder do we ever know it's true importance.