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Fourteen

I lay quietly, watching shadows play across the wall. Hidden in a small haven. I focus in on the dancing leaves, closing down my vision of the peripheral messes, piles and clutters. 

Time plays backwards and forwards. Fast and slow, here and there my mind wanders. Exploring, remembering, chasing down what I know to be mine. 

Transitioning. 

We came here looking for I don't know what. And found fire, stars, iridescent blue peacock feathers. And the tales of what we were to become. What we are made of and where we will return. We are stardust*. 

And we dance and play around each other, gravity holding us in orbit. I hear the half remembered sounds of laughter and frustration. I feel the pull so strong, so infinitely binding I won't ever fall away, won't ever spin out into space. 

Deep in the darkness there is more and more of all that makes us and binds us. All that we will ever need. 



* Every atom in your body is billions of years old. Hydrogen, the most common element in the universe and a major feature of your body, was produced in the big bang 13.7bn years ago. Heavier atoms such as carbon and oxygen were forged in stars between 7bn and 12bn years ago, and blasted across space when the stars exploded. Some of these explosions were so powerful that they also produced the elements heavier than iron, which stars can't construct. This means that the components of your body are truly ancient: you are stardust. - http://www.theguardian.com/science/2013/jan/27/20-human-body-facts-science  

Thirteen

We took an evening stroll down to the waters edge, collecting a discarded vacuum pipe and brush along the way. I am soothed by the young one’s unwavering joy in others rubbish. We happily pass the time. I watch little boats out on the horizon. They are tiny speckles on the blue. The clouds sweep slowly along above us. The sun shines low over the stones warming us in the early evening glow. Small waves lap gently up to our feet.

Along the tide line the vacuum is utilised to remove and examine the thick dark seaweed that has been trailed in a long thick border to the sea. I watch him play and wonder how it came to be there. It stretches the length of the beach in both directions, as far as we can see, like a scum line on the bath.

It occurs to me that the sea is clearing out, pushing off something unwanted. I picture it belching, burping and gurgling. Bringing up bits from far bellow and retching them out onto the beach. I stand still, my imaginings taking me beyond the shoreline, the stink of the seaweed becoming the deep unknown.

Suddenly a little voice shouts in excitement. The examinations have turned up something worthy. He pulls a bright green fleck from amongst the dark tendrils.

‘Look Mummy! Sea Lettuce!’

The sea swells with a deep unconsciousness. The water pulls us, to and fro, with each tide. It has the ability to both ease and unsettle me.

Twelve

We arrive, late as usual, to find children and adults milling around, dressed in floral May crowns. Sunlight streams through the trees and the sky rises high above us all in a clear vibrant blue. The children scamper, immediately, excited to join the play with their friends. I drop the bags and breathe.

A little tug at my leg

“Mummy, can I have a crown?”

So we sit and weave. Long trails of ivy circling round and round, adding daffodils, forget-me-nots, blossom and dandelions. Satisfied, she disappears once more, happily bedecked.

And so we while away the morning. The children work, making and crafting, building and sharing. Tools are carried and plans made. Little backs arched and plump tummies pushed out whilst heads listen on one side then nod in agreement with each other. All of a sudden a decision is reached and in a flurry of activity they all scatter before returning to each other at the far end of the woods.

I watch them working on their shelter, adorning and reinforcing on all sides. Not even the lure of the fire and popcorn can bring them from this important task.

All around life strains forth. Amongst the wood smoke little voices bring glowing touches to the idyll.

 My Lady Spring is dressed in green,

She wears a primrose crown,

And little baby buds and twigs

Are clinging to her gown;

The sun shines if she laughs at all,

But if she weeps the raindrops fall.

My Lady Spring, my Lady Spring

Eleven

I lit the little light, last night

Laid in bed, through sleep, I heard 
A muffled word

… “Mummy”…

She lay there and smiled
Small and wild my beautiful child
And quietly said

  …”Out of bed”…

The dark, dark night lit only by our little light

Ten

Something unknown broke across sleep and woke the boy.

With practised calm we lift him from his room to ours. A quick glance between us as we wonder 

‘how long will this one be?’ 

We sit on the bed, quietly, waiting for it to pass. Small arms flail and the young voice fills the room with misery.

Turbulent emotions flood through him, intensity flowing into us. Holding tight to the hope that arms and legs are not truly aimed at us, we wait.

And watch

And wait

Occasionally hushing or cooing or saying his name, we wait

And watch

And wait

Until the tide ebbs, recognition returns and we are able to hold and soothe him. As quickly as it came it is gone. He sleeps quietly, soundly and we lay there. Trying to transform all that we have absorbed.

Nine

We took a scooter each, thee and me, and headed out into the dark towards the beach. You wanted to find the first star of the evening. Down we go, weaving in and out and past each other. The dark warms and holds us in our own little bubble. Over the cobbles and across the lights we laugh, though this is serious fun. 

Down on the stones we look out over the sea. All the stars are cocooned away in the cloudy sky. 

'Never-mind' you say, 'lets scoot.'

Along the front we whirl and twirl, looping and figuring eights.

'Like this Mummy'

Then we stop and sit. You wipe the bench with your sleeve and explain the magic of the stars. I watch the city lights flashing and winking. Blurring past our stillness.

On the way home you ask me

'What do you wish for mummy?'