I STOOD ON THE RISE

I stood on the rise today
Knowing that Someone stood with me
For He had been waiting so long
For me to return
Knowing that at the appointed time I would come
And on that day I was drawn
Unmistakably
Imperceptibly
And in one moment we met
Magnetised
I could not stop
For in another moment in time
Many years ago
I had been given to Him
The first fruits
And in the giving He claimed me for His own
In this place I was named
By name He called me
Down the years
The corridors of time
But time for me is running out
And soon I will be drawn once again
This time by horses
To my final resting place
And on that day too
He will be waiting for me
On the rise
For He sees me coming from afar off
Knowing my time is almost nigh
Arms stretched out to greet me
Speaking my name
And I who can no longer walk
Will run to Him
I who can no longer see
Will behold His face
And in that last embrace I will know
I am “Home at last.”

EVER MINE

Sitting as the sun died and night came
I smelled and tasted the air that spoke of times past
And once again I could see,
Feel the movement of the big swing
In the night air
Reaching to the stars in the black sky
Laughing in exhilaration
As only a child can
Wondering
If I could catch a star
And hold it forever
Here, in this place where now I sat
The past lived again
And
Like then
I asked questions
“”Where is God?”
Seeing the vastness of the sky
I wondered
Was He beyond the stars?
Could I catch and hold Him too?
Could I even reach Him?
Small as I was then
I feel even smaller now
Blind, lame, sick,
And now I wonder just as then
“Can I catch and hold God?”
And even as I ask,
I feel once again a child’s wonderment
And know that the Kingdom of Heaven
Belongs to such as me,
And that it is not high up in the skues
Beyond my reach,
But indeed it is within me
Not dependent on time or space
But ever present
Ever a gift
Ever mine

SILENT

Stillness
In the twilight
Punctuated only
By the call of birds going home
Red sky
Blackened
By clouds of rooks whirling, swirling
A lone duck rises, flies
Over the bridge
Quacking

Muntjack
Deer calling out
From far in the distance
Starlings making patterns in skies
Turning
Crimson
Suddenly the cries are silent
Night has swallowed them up
All are at rest
Silent

THE BEAUTIFUL LADY – a true but spooky tale

Yesterday, as some of you know, I went to visit my Uncle’s grave in the village in Lincolnshire, England, where I was born, and where my grandparents had a farm where I spent many happy hours as a child. I promised some of you that I would write more about the Beautiful Lady. So here goes:

The farm was a magical place, full of all sorts of nooks and crannies, and spooky rooms. It was a very very large, old building, probably built in medieval times. It was the most beautiful place I have ever known, full of love. A wondrous place for a child.

As you entered the farmhouse, you went, first, into the back kitchen, which consisted of just a huge old sink with running water drawn from the old pump that was next to the farmhouse. It had its own well. My grandfather used to have to pump the water by hand, but in time, the pump was electrified, which made life much easier. My grandmother just placed a wooden table in the kitchen to put pots on after they had been washed in the huge, deep sink, served only by cold water. She would have to heat and carry hot water from the boiler beside the huge fire in what was called the kitchen proper, to the sink, in order to wash the pots.

Having gone through the back kitchen, you then passed the bottom of the first staircase, on your left, and what was called the front door, on your right, which was hardly ever opened, and found yourself in the kitchen proper. A huge room, where all the cooking and baking was done. It had a massive range, with a boiler on one side of the fireplace for boiling large amounts of water, and an oven on the other side. My grandmother was an amazing cook. Going off the kitchen was a huge pantry, where all the food was stored, usually complete with mouse!

“We’ve got a mouse,” was the oft heard cry.

So, mouse traps were continually set in the pantry. It had a mouse proof cage made of strong wire, to keep the food safe. Often, at night, sitting by the fire, we would hear the mouse trap go off.

The next room was what was called The Middle Room, where we sometimes sat for a special treat. It had a huge fireplace in it too, and a nice sofa and chairs, and a massive posh dining table and chairs. The chief attraction there, for me particularly, was the piano, which I loved to bash hell out of!

Next comes the eerie bit. Good for Halloween! Going off that room was what we called The Far Room, but also, through another door was a spooky corridor, leading to the wash house, where all the laundry was done. Of course, there was a posher, which was used to get the clothes clean, and another boiler to boil water in with a fire, and a mangle. There was also a tin bath, which I was always scared to go in for fear of one of my Uncles, or my grandfather coming by whilst I was sitting there in the altogether!

But…..off this corridor on the right, was a staircase. As a child, I never knew where it went. Only the very bottom of it was visible, as it soon turned so you could not see to the top of it. This was the corridor that my grandmother would take me down, each night, to go to the outside wooden lav, before going to bed. A lav with no running water or flush, but that my grandfather had to empty at various intervals and bury the contents. We would go there each night, carrying a torch, because for most of my childhood the farm had no electric, and it was lit by oil lamps hanging from the ceiling, or that you carried with you as you walked around. But going down this spooky corridor my grandmother carried a torch. We always used to run past the bottom of that staircase, because we had no idea who might be there. Our imaginations always ran wild. But it was that sort of house. Often the nights were wild, and Wuthering Heights comes to mind as I am writing this. Going to bed at night would be done by the light of a candle, which we carried upstairs with us. In many of the bedroom, the trees would be knocking on the windows. Often there was a howling gale.

But I digress again, as usual!

My Uncle, when a little boy, slept in a small bedroom off the main big bedroom. A huge horse chestnut tree constantly tapped on the window as if pleading for entry. THIS was where he saw the Beautiful Lady, all dressed in pink. She appeared at his bedside each night. He told my grandmother of this, and, rather than telling him not to be so stupid, she just allowed him to have his fancy. In time, he stopped talking about the Beautiful Lady.

In recent years my husband and I started doing research on this amazing farmhouse. We discovered that it used to be the Grange of a monastery. Inside the farmhouse would have orrigi nally been a Chapel. Lay brothers would have farmed the land.

Now of course you can guess where my imagination was and still is, going! Who WAS that Beautiful Lady? WAS it the Virgin Mary? Well, She was not ALWAYS dressed in blue, but HAS also been depicted dressed in pink.

My family is not Catholic, so my Uncle would not even have heard of the Virgin Mary, so he could not have conjured that up. But now, I am intrigued, and as I go to my Uncle’s grave, I talk to him, about the secret that was buried with him, and pray, too, that I can see the Beautiful Lady. Who KNOWS what might happen?