Scenes From The Moth House.

We are away in the north-west again, so this is a short post to let you see something I've been up to over the last little while.

It's a little place of photos and words. Of little vignettes and quiet corners from a place in my head, a place I call The Moth House. Of significant, and also small, happenings there, the wanderings and musings and sad reveries of its occupants, The Lovers.

You can visit it here: The Moth House.

I hope you like it!

Reverie In Times Of Happy Chaos.

While I find it hard
to pin down my thoughts
this time of year

A sense of urgency now as we race full tilt
towards the end of one thing and the beginning of another

And my seemingly endless hours spent
driving
I find if I tip my head like this
ever so slightly
there I am
out there in the green
waving to myself as I fly by on my bike
standing high on the pedals

Out there in the green
wind rushing

Out there in the green...

Thoughts On Treasure.

Some days are a painful pinprick,
as though a tender blister bursting,
when my child's tiny hand rests on my knee
and I gaze at it and I remember it is not mine.

I am not the little child,
but the mother.

And those moments I am caught 

and I see through their eyes,

something that was once so familiar,

and I am brought to stillness,

my heart undone.

When my own voice fails me,
and I hear theirs,
lilting, sweet and sure.

Their world certain and simple and yet so wondrous.

And I am filled.

I am filled.

Upon Seeing A Dear Friend.

Yesterday.

There was a road, and mist and hoarfrost.

A long road that leads me astray.

And we greet one another with tears when we meet,

grief cruelly holding your hand.

We walk arm in arm,

our silences as deep as our words.

And though the longest road lies between us,

my dearest friend, 

our story still has miles to go.

A Gathering of Happiness.

All through the festive days,
the childish chatter, the heartfelt delight,

it clutches at my heart.

Exquisite, bittersweet joy.

The easy mingling, the threads picked up,

the weaving of family ties continuing it's magic odyssey.

The generous table shared and enjoyed side by side,

and we are reminded it is never enough, our time together.

And our days become lingering quiet,

small moments we can pause and really feel,

when we take off our hasty wings

and practice the art of savouring. 

And I am blessed,

to be surrounded, encircled, by so many,

by so much.

And even though for some

we have to make do with a faraway voice

traveling halfway around the world,

our Christmas greetings are earnest, wholehearted and deep.

So, I'll sit in contemplation, and wonder.

And all those years of Christmases gone by fill my head and my heart.

And I raise my glass to you all,

family and friends alike.

For this year is closing, and a bright new one just around the bend.

~*~

And I tip my hat to Sara, and Pamela who I found of similar mind this festive season! And I have no doubt there will be more.

And I wish, I wish with all my might that next year Santa brings my sister!

'The Door of Winter Stands Ajar...'

We sit in the deep night,
the cold midwinter sun fled from our skies,

And all around the frost creeps and cracks,
sparkles in the deepening the dark.

And yet another year has spun around us.

The longest night,
emboldened with a sweeping swathe of milky stars,
And a perfect crescent mother moon
cradled in a bed of cloud, alone in the bitter sky.

And as the night draws deeper round us,
like a friendly whispering ghost,
we light a candle
and smile and nod to one another,

For now the door of winter stands ajar,
with a promise of returning light.

Eldest.

Amidst the busy hours
of running around chasing my tail endless forking out meeting needs hugs and kisses bumped knees shouting laughing toast and jam fireside stories bedtime waking up time bath time homework dinner washing clothes cakes birthdays coffee driving nagging hugging walking breathing dreaming loving loving loving...

Little ones are good at getting their needs met.

Some nights I would go to bed,
and wonder,

Did I have any one to one conversation with him today?

But now we have an hour
in the pre~dawn quiet before the house awakes,
before he leaves for school.

And I am amazed.

Who is this young man?

This young man.

On My Birthday.

This evening,
in a fug,

I lay in the bath and I listened.

Out in the darkness
the sea has found it's winter voice
booming onto shingle, a grave Neptunous murmuring in my ear.

I listen to the tap drip,
the candle spit and hiss,
and the strains of Van Morrison echo dimly somewhere in the house.

Tiny footsteps run down the hall,
past the door
and away.

The sweetest voice I know singing as it goes.

And somewhere else
the hum of familiar voices
rumble against one another in newly discovered conversation.

And I look through the steam that swirls through candlelight,
at the robe my mother gave me against the newly painted door,

and happiness will run,
for I am beholden.

And happiness will run.

After The Rain We Took A Lonely Walk.

In the grey,

a winter's day,

the quiet sound of our footsteps

on wet.

Up the lane.

And the stark lonely trees,

cut out against the clouds,

loom like desolate, friendless wraiths.

And the fields so quiet.

The skies a strange, empty hush.

And then, in the distance we see a herd of twenty horses
at full gallop,
their riders lying against their backs it seemed,
as though listening to their heartbeats.

Flying through the fields. Flying!

And my heart beats. My heart beats.

Wins out over the quiet fields, beyond the oppressing gloom,
and above the unnatural silence that rings in the air.

And there it is,
what we were missing.

Something like the breath of the forest,
the breathing trees.

A murmur in our ear, whispered close against our skin.

And so, together we walk on,
a faint brightness clinging to the light on the trees ahead.

A Breather.

Our favourite time,

when we get to be monsters,

And our focus returns to the quiet things,

the little things

that remind us

to slow down

and do something from scratch.

And that sometimes the simple things are good enough.

And as we look forward to a week of no school we can pause and look at one another

and say hello!

October Sunlight.

All week the sun shone.

And the air was still.

And we savoured the warmth,

before the winds come.

And we'll have something to remember when the leaves are gone,

those moments when the light caught us and spun us a web.

And let us pause and look and marvel.

And we'll take this with us, a little memory of warmth in our hearts,

to carry us through the winter.

This post inspired by Hannah~Honey, Queen of Sushi, Sultana of Laughter, and Purveyor of Fine Spirit!

What I Thought As I Lay In The Quiet.

He's gone three morning's now.

And sharing Mama every day.

And he's playing hard.

And I am turning my time and thought's to things other than baby.

And then,

a night like tonight,

when one is too tired to stay awake,

and misses his cuddle time,

And another is too wide awake to sleep,

and tosses and turns and talks and sings,

muttering to himself...

And I wonder am I good enough?

Until at last,

as sleep catches him

a train rumbles out of the quiet night,

past his window,

and from the land of nod

his little hand is raised

in a wave.

He never misses one.

And I think maybe it'll do.

What I Love...

Where we've been.

What we've been doing.

What I love...

A busy, busy couple of weeks,

the goodness of which was

family, friends, and food.

My head is tired,

my heart is full.

Breathing Space.

Today,

a day away from the fray

for me.

Moving through sunlight,

sunlight through trees.

Autumn has been halted

in it's steps.

A bright, solitary journey south

into the hills,

with only Megafauns-

deep, sincere and in my ear.

A few hours of something else entirely,

wholly out of my comfort zone,

in a room full of strangers

and a scattering of friends.

And still.

I return to the garden

where the radiant, stilly air hangs in a hush.

And through the open window

the joyous delinquent laughter of little boys.

My heart is pierced

and filled.

Summer's End.

Tomorrow we return to school, and routine, and driving every day.

There will be lunches to be made and shoes to be found.

And as the weeks progress there'll be coats and wooly jumpers,

and in the evening we'll light the fire and 'baton down the hatches'.

So last night we gathered our friends together,

and we lit a fire,

and celebrated the Summer's end.

In a little pocket of sun

amidst the cooling mist and rain.

And though there will no doubt be days when the Autumn forgets itself,

and gives us a day at the beach

or a warm wind in the morning,

we know this next fragment of path is the one that is scattered

with swirling leaves, and groans with sneaky winds.

And 'the door of winter stands ajar...'

Welcome.

Welcome.

A Blessing Of A Kind.

I do love when,

every so often, in the day to day blur,

I am reminded, in a moment of clarity,

of just how good life can be.

We may not solve every problem,

or even come close.

We may not get everything right,

or be happy with the choices we have made.

But it is such a blessing to sit around a table,

with familiar faces,

and know that if nothing else we can simply do our best.

And our children will stand testament to our endeavors.

And they will show us that we can be good enough.

In The Middle Of Ireland.

We took a detour.

On our trip home from the south.

A blessed rest,

in the middle of Ireland.

We paused,

on the banks of Lough Derg,

in the quiet,

and contemplated.

And sometimes it's the balm you need,

just to pause.

And breathe for a moment.

Thoughts While Out Picking Fruit.

When Summer starts to feel like Autumn,

I like to be reminded

we are still only halfway through

the holidays.

So a phone call from my brother

and we find ourselves driving

with our mother,

and my children,

up the Dublin mountains,

winding along on unfamiliar roads,

in search of a long ago, childish memory.

Of hot summer days spent picking strawberries,

complaining loudly about how boring it was,

and eating as much as we could,

secretly delighting in the intoxicating smell and colour of it all,

and the anticipation of jam! at the end of it all.

We found familiar, long forgotten roads on our way,

roads that motorways have taken away from us,

roads of our childhood.

Roads that stirred memories of funny family stories,

and people no longer with us.

And though we were clearly not seasoned early risers,

and pickings were slim on the ground,

we gathered raspberries

and filled our buckets as best we could,

intoxicated by the scent

and the anticipation of jam!

And the sun did not shine,

and no one complained,

and the journey home was filled with quiet,

and that intoxicating scent of summers past.

And I like to think these little things we do every day,

memories are made as easily as this,

someday to be taken out by one or other of these children of mine,

taken out and given a little shake and then smoothed out at the edges,

and not reexamined

but gently inhaled.

And they will be taken to a distant place they once were together,

when life was straightforward and full of simple passions,

and they can smile and nod to one another,

and maybe not even talk about it.

But it's enough.