RHYMES&REASONS

Observations, Thoughts and Reflections on 21st Century Life

Tag: Fog

In the Bleak Midwinter

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Winter.

 The living foundation of us all.  The underlying heart, which continues to beat out it’s rhythm when all seems lost.

 The joyful, which in another season’s time would raise a smile, is met by the hard gaze of frozen ground that no nourishment or distraction can melt.  The beauty of the brown barren land is lost to us as we seek in vain the colour and warmth from a distant time.

Dormant.

We long to move on, to leave behind the chilling air which engulfs as fog and cloys our every thought.  We plough our way through the detritus at our feet, heavy with sodden tears.  And wearily we sigh as all we turn over is bleakness.  This internal airing of spinning thoughts, wringing them dry until they fall as fragile leaves at our feet, serves to relieve the burden we heavily bear.

Lost.

Temporarily in the lightness of an empty mind, unsure and wary of the way forward, impatiently we scuff the ground with our feet.  And there we catch a glimpse among the array of wintry browns, a tiny shoot of brightest green, tender, vulnerable and yet poised to unfurl.  A symbol of our inner desire conscious or not as it begins to once more stir, the manifestation of a living, hidden current which runs through.

Patience.

When all you see is fog across the land, or dust settled on a lost love’s rose, smile and be sure for the light is yet to be revealed.

Painting ‘Reflections Unfurled’ by Rebecca Pells

https://www.artfinder.com/product/reflections-unfurled/

The Journey

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Yesterday I rose before daybreak to return home to Shropshire from Dorset in the UK, where I had been staying for a few days to attend my 92 year old father’s funeral.  The usual four hour journey became six due to fog, intense wind and rain and flooded roads.

Weather and thoughts seemed to merge and reflect each other’s mood with each slow mile I travelled.   At times I could not see my way forward but neither could I return.

Reluctant to rise this December morn

at once willing, wanting to be gone.

But to leave him behind yet I am torn.

Out into the light not yet born

for it holds still death’s time done.

Hours are long, the road is short

veiled as I too by dense dark haze.

The wheels turn as my mind too, wrought

with turmoil as child and I fought,

cradling the infant with gentle gaze.

Refusing to be settled, the infant made cry

even as I soothed the adult joined child

“depart not my father, you cannot die.

Leave us not with questions why”

in unison now with sentiment wild.

“You cannot leave, not yet, now not.”

The question hung, then tore the fog apart –

“did you love us or did you not?”

The infant lay back in rocking cot

once more quiet, carried in my heart.

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