FOWC / Hoopla

“When are we going to the ‘East?” he implored.  

“Later,” replied Grandma.

The ‘East came to the village every year, but little David could not say the word “Feast,” and so it got labelled that for many years to come.  Just as he could not say the name “Lorraine” and instead called his elder cousin “The Rain.”  

For some reason it always seemed very cold walking down the long road from the farm to the village, to The ‘East, but always, it seemed, the stars were shining out in the night sky.  It was a magical time. 

A local farmer gave over one of his fields to “The ‘East” and it was hard to know where to start once in the field.  “The Rain”always plumped for the huge boat shaped swings that seemed to go right up into the night sky.  She giggled and gasped as they went higher and higher.  She felt she could almost catch one of those stars. 

Once off the swing, there were the bright yellow plastic ducks going round and round in the water, each with a number on kts bottom.  The idea was to catch one of them and see what prize you got.  

Then there was the HOOPLA.  And of course, “The Rain” and her little clysin had to have a go on everything.

Grandma was not too keen on the dodgems, however, but “The Rain” always made a bee line for them.  And as far as “The Rain” was concerned, the more bangs that occurred, the better, and the louder and harder the better. Grandma would be tut tutting, but “The Rain” did not let it spoil her enjoyment.  In fact she attempted to force a big bang just to annoy Grandma.  

Such a wondrous time for a child, never to be forgotten.

#Elemental Writing Challenge April 20 from The Haunted Wordsmith : EARTH

I remember today I am from the earth
Born of Her womb in ancient time
I live forever in soil and rock
In sand and chalk
On the sea’s gentle shore
None can destroy what always exists
Though its form may change
New patterns create
Eternal is earth’s ambience
I live and know I will never die

#Genre Writing Chalenge April 20. Haunted. A Rondeau


At the end of the lane I gazed
At the fields where cattle once grazed
Back in a better time
In a childhood so sublime
Now my mind is crazed

The house still stands where once I lazed
In summer’s sun I was not phased
But now dark figures walk in a line
At the end of the lane

Memories cannot be erased
And the dead from death cannot be raised
I see them sitting in windows fine
Hear once again the hall clock chime
Haunting me  while my heart blazed
At the end of the lane


Gone in an instant
A moment in time
No time to grieve
No time to think
Requirements are made
Change your ashen clothes
Scrub your face
In the dark
“It’s easy to glow”
I feel the pull of duty again
And put the real me
Back into its shroud


Can I claim the land where I am now a foreigner,
And maybe always was,
As I sit beneath the rowan tree
That sturdily guards all souls?

This place was always their home,
The home I wanted for myself
For all eternity,
That never in time was mine,
Though when always so far away
I yearned for this place that always I called home

I heard so many names,
Knew the folks from stories told,
And through such tales felt one of them,
And now I sit here, read their names,
And long to claim this land


For those of you who read my horrible experience last night, with being trapped, I just want to say that we went somewhere different today, and I just can’t put into words how I feel, for it was SO different.  I feel light as a feather, and have hope in my heart once again for a total change around in things.  I daren’t speak too soon, but we have found a place that is KIND. People who WANTED to help us.  I just cannot put my gratitude into words.  Five whole years of STRUGGLE with the last place.  Insults, pointed jokes, criticisms, and much much more that I don’t care to name.  But today we could not have received more kindness  than we did.  I cannot write much because my heart is so full.  Just tears.


It’s not what I wanted
I wanted to be included
made welcome
Part of somebody
Part of something
Part of the crowd
But I am set apart
Set aside
Walking alone
In silence
Bearing my load
As I watched Him
Bearing His
And we stood together
In a strange way


Blood runs cold
After the fear
The Reality
You knew it would be so
Hitting the ground
Hearing the sound
Thirst thirst
In side
Blood curdling
“Why have you forsaken me?”


Bring to light that which is hidden
Nestling deep in the darkness
Sing into being that which should live
Wing your chosen way onwards

Do not fear the deep waters
You were once held in this ocean
Too many times you stood at the edge
New life is yours for the taking


Last night we had a horrific experience.

We went to our church for what we call “The Mass of the Lord’s Supper,” and we found ourselves trapped in a huge crowd. We had gone early, to make sure we got a parking spot whereby we could get out and leave if I felt ill part way through. It was to be a long Mass, and I have not sat in church in my wheelchair for that length of time for a whole year. I know I am not good at sitting for long periods of time now, but I wanted to be there for part of it.

We secured our parking spot just outside the gates of the church car park, knowing that no one could block us in there. We made our way slowly up the loooooong car park to the church, me guiding my wheelchair with one hand on the joystick and the other tapping with my blind cane to see where I was going. It was hard. Very hard.

We got to the electric doors of the church, but they had broken down because of kids playing with them. They only opened a small way and the gap was so narrow that our wheelchairs would not go through. A man saw what had happened and he came and pushed the doirs back and held them for us.

Once inside the church we sat at the back to ensure that we could get out if necessary. The Mass began. Crowds had formed around us. We could not move. They were all stood up, and we were low down in our wheelchairs, lost. Even if we had wanted to go to a larger place for wheelchairs users, none existed. The church is not wheelchair friendly.

It was meant to be a joyous occasion, celebrating Jesus instituting the Eucharist. Bells rang out for a long time, as we sang “Gloria”. As the Mass proceeded I began to feel ill because of the crowds pressing in on me, bashing me with handbags, kids kicking me, and people leaning on me with their hands. I became a public leaning post.

After about an hour I needed to leave. I was in pain and starting to feel sick. But we could not make our way through the crowds, some kneeling on the stone floor, some standing.

However, eventually we did  find our way out, and we got outside the church only to find that cars had completely filled the car park, so close together that there was no way through to get out. It was pitch black out there, and cold. My husband told me to wait whilst he tried to find a way through the cars. He left me. I sat there in my wheelchair blind, helpless and terrified. He was gone for a long time. I was alone.

Eventually, just as I was about to start screaming with panic (remember I am blind) he came back. He told me that the gap through was VERY narrow, with only about one inch leeway. As a blind person, how was I to guude my wheelchair through? But we were desperate. My husband shouted instructions at me from his wheelchair, and after about half an hour, we got through. We got into our car, my husband having hauled both wheelchairs into the back of the car only to discover that people from the church had parked their cars in the narrow ten foot behind the church, and we were STUCK.

Panic rose in me. I was feeling ill. I needed ti get home.

Eventually, we did get home, but none of this should ever have happened. This morning the memory lives with me. The memory of being totally trapped.


As the bells ring out

Joyously in the dark church

Bodies pressing us

Loud intonations

Assault our ears as people

Tread on us hit us

I feel pain rising

I need to get out quickly

But there is no way

The bells signaling

The Last Supper of Jesus

Life given for us

The crowds begin to hurt me

The drama unfolding now

#Genre Writing Challenge April 18 from The Haunted Wordsmith


Sad girl holds her doll
Tears are pouring from her eyes
She sucks on her thumb

Her hair is straggly
Her dress is so badly stained
Alone in a room

She knows no one hears
She cuddles the doll closely
Rocks it in her arms

She kisses the doll
Bathing it in her salt tears
The doll is her friend

No one hears the cries
Of a child in pain




This time of year is very poignant for me, since it was at this time of year, when all the beautiful blossom was out that I was told, in a most brutal way, that I had cancer, but also it is the time of year that I was told that, miraculously, I had gone into remission.  So I have many things on my mind at this time of year.  This morning, we went for a drive out in the countryside, alongside the river bank, and we stopped under a tree to drink our coffee. I put my window down as It was getting rather hot with the sun streaming into the car, and a small branch from the tree poked its head into the car.  It had the most beautiful delicate white blossom on it.  Perfect!

I thought about the two events connected with the blossom, but I also thought about my friend, Blossom, whom I became very close to, who did not make it.  It felt, when that small branch poked its head into our car as if to say “Hello”, as if it was Blossom coming back to say “Hello” to me.  Though it was a beautiful thing, it also brought forth a lot of grief that was very deep.  You see, I should have died, but I didn’t.  My survival was nothing short of miraculous.

I remember my G.P. The lovely little Pakistani lady (in other parts of the world you would call her your Primary Care doctor) who saved my life by recognising my symptoms when the first doctor had failed to for a full year, coming to see me when I went into remission.  She knelt down at the side of my chair, and I asked her how far from death I had been.  She told me that it had been hit and miss because I was on the verge of death, and could have gone at any time.

I said to this beautiful lady who had been like a mother to me all the way through,

“It’s a miracle isn’t it.”

She nodded and said,



I said that I wanted to tell the whole world about my miracle, and she told me to go and SHOUT IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS.

Well, I can’t do that, but I CAN write about it.  As you know, if you have read my other posts about my cancer, things did deteriorate badly, starting about a couple of years ago. But that does not negate the miracle of my survival.

It is so sad that my dear friend Blossom did not make it.  Some of you may remember that I have written poems about her.  Her death was sad in more ways than one, because she wanted no one to know of her death when it happened.  She had made this clear beforehand.  Not even her sons and her grandchildren. I never knew  truly what went on there, but she held much bitterness inside her right up until her death.  Though we had been so close, she had even cut herself off from me during her last few months.

It was very strange how we found out about her death.  I am unable to use a phone, but I asked my husband if he would call her to see how she was.  I was not sure how this would be received, because she had grown butter towards everybody, and did not want bothering.  However, when he rang her, there was a message on her mobile saying that she was not well enough to answer the phone, and would people please text her instead.

We knew things must be bad by this stage, and my husband texted her saying that we realised things were bad.  She texted back saying,

“That’s an understatement.  They can do nothing more for me, and I am dying.”

I asked my husband to text her back with a message from me, simply saying,

“I love you very very much.”

Blossom had never been able to believe that anybody loved her, and this made her push away people who DID care for her.  She saw ulterior motives in everybody.

There was nothing more that I could do.

Then, a couple of weeks later, something led me to look at her Facebook page.  She had Unfriended me some months previous, as she cleared everyone out of her life. I discovered a note from her son saying that Blossom had died, and that they had never been told even that she had died, but they had found out in a most horrible way.  His son, her grandson was terribly badly affected by it, and could not understand it.  Blossom had left instructions with a solicitor that when she died, she must be disposed of in a certain way, and laid to rest in a certain place, with no headstone, which no one must be told of.

Blossom had told me once, when we went out for lunch together, in our better days, that this was what she was going to do.  I never thought she would carry it through, but she did!

But this morning, when that small branch, with the beautiful white blossom poked its head into the car, I felt SURE it was her saying “

“Hi.  I’m still here.  You’re gonna be O.K.”

You see, I have been having a very bad time over the past few months, as my body has deteriorated more and more, and often I have feared that I am on my way out.  My husband has felt the same way.  And so, I have been very low at times.  But here, it seemed, was Blossom, poking her head in at me, and telling me I was going to be O.K. I knew that she meant whichever way it went.

I do not know what I believe about such things, but how lovely if it were true!

And so, I meditate upon life and death quite a lot.  I have good reason to.

I know that many of my poems contain thoughts about life, death, time and eternity.  I am sure that this will continue for as long as I am around.



I will walk down
Summer  lane, recalling
Times past when I walked the mountains
To heights
I had never scaled before, now
Is the hour to scale heights
Again, take me
To Summer lane

#Daily Word Prompt. EXAMINE

“Would you please leave the room while I EXAMINE her.”

He was dressed in a smart grey suit, and only a few moments earlier had walked briskly and purposefully into the room with an air of the utmost authority that made her  cringe.

The room was an odd shape.  Long and kind of narrow.  Kathy was laid on the bed awaiting his arrival, not knowing quite what to expect.  As he entered the room she knew that it certainly wasn’t this.  She was only here for blood tests, or so she thought.  Nothing serious really.  A quick piercing of her skin by the needle, and that would be it.  They would then be able to prescribe her the right antibiotics.

The blind had been pulled down in the room.  Kathy had insisted on it.  She could not stand the glare of the sun coming through the window.  It was hot.  The heat made her restless.

As her husband and her mother left the room, the doctor moved towards her to examine her.  Kathy was shocked.  He was thorough, examining her neck and face, then moving down to her armpits and then her abdomen and groin.

“Why all this?” Kathy thought.  It was her skin that was troubling her.  It did not make sense.

The doctor called her husband and her mother back into the room.

“Mrs. Lewis, you have cancer,” the doctor said.

#FOWC. Prime.

FOWC with Fandango — Prime


It was the PRIME time for it. There he was, sitting up on the rafters of the Garden Centre. Everyone was looking up at him in consternation. No one was looking at the shelves full of ornaments, kitchen equipment, garden equipment. A crowd had gathered. How on earth was he going to get down? How on earth was he going to get food?

Someone was running around with a huge net on the end of a stick. Was that to deliver his food in? As everyone watched, he kept moving from rafter to rafter. He was making such a noise! Talk about a disturbance!.

Then we heard him, chirruping away. And we saw him too. A bright yellow and lime green budgie. Talk about fast! There was going to be no catching him,we thought.

Half an hour later, he was firmly ensconced in his cage. Excitement over for the day. We left the Garden Centre, but only got as far as the car park. We looked at each other.

“We’ ve GOT to have him,” we said to each other. Any bird that could escape like that and provide all that entertainment MUST be a bird worth having.

We returned to the Garden Centre, and bought the budgie, along with a really nice large house for him.

“We’d better call him Houdini,” I said to my husband.

It was settled. What other name could we calk a budgie like that?

So we called him Billy! Well, what budgie could get his tongue and his beak round “Pretty Houdini”?

Soon after that, my husband was working in the garden, and, looking through the patio window, he spied Hou….Billy sitting on the top of his cage. He scratched his head saying,

“How the hell did he get out of there?”


When President Macron of France went into Notre Dame Cathedral for the first time since the fire began, the first thing that he saw was the Cross on the altar, shining out golden light, into the darkness, as it reflected the fire that was still burning.

The veil
Rent in two in
Deep darkness exposing
The Holy of Holies a Cross
Shining a golden light as fire
Reflected on its form
Golden dawn comes
Cross shaped


I sit one day looking at the fields,
A flash of colour takes my eye,
It darts so fast across the water,
I am mesmerised by such deep, rich colour,
It lands quite suddenly on a branch,
A beautiful tiny kingfisher.

For the very first time I see the kingfisher,
In a dyke surrounding the fields,
So close it sits on the swaying branch,
I see it clearly in my eye,
I am entranced by its wonderful colour,
Gently flows the water.

It sits looking at the moving water,
Containing fish for the kingfisher,
How amazing is its colour,
Matching the green of the fields,
Showing up on the grey-brown branch,
I can hardly move my eye.

I see it fluttering in my eye,
It starts to dart across the water,
Flying off the swaying branch,
This beautiful little kingfisher,
The wind blows gently on the fields,
The grass a shimmering green in colour.

I become aware of deeper colour,
Wherever I cast my eye,
Whether it be on the sky or on the water,
On the wild flowers in the fields,
Or on the little kingfisher,
That fluttered off the grey-brown branch.

Inside I thank God for that grey-brown branch,
My life now is full of deeper colour,
Brought into being by the kingfisher,
On which I feasted my eye,
As I look at the colours in the field,
I thank God for the moving water.

The sun shines on the water enhancing dancing colour ,
Even the brown-grey branch, that draws my eye,
Catching the shimmering green of the field, reflected in kingfishers wing.


yesterday we were sitting, as is our wont, in my home village, facing the churchyard, and suddenly tbere was a strange nouse.  Just one line goise honking and flying over us, past the church, eastwards.  It was flying very low.

When a goose is flying alone, it means that one goose out of the flick was hurt, became ill or was dying.  One goose out of the flock will always stay with the hurt, sick or dying goose until the end, to protect and look after it.  Then it will fly to find its flock.  The flying time to join the rest of the flock gives the goose time to grieve.


This partucular goose, honking as loudly as it was, was probably letting its flock now that it was on its way back, and listening for a signal from them as to where they were.


The fact that it was f,ying low means that the dying goise had only been a short distance away from us.  Pribably somewhere near the river bank.

Geese mate for lufe, and if theur partner dies, they do not mate again, but remain widows or widowers.


What absolutely WONDERFUL birds.


There comes a time in all our lives when we have to face something that we don’t want to face. We then have to face a test – will we or won’t we surrender?  Will we or won’t we survive the test and win?

As may have become obvious from some of my postings in the past, (or maybe it hasn’t) my life has not exactly been easy, or a bed of roses. More like a bed of thorns, from being a very tiny child. I lived in the most terrible fear a lot of the time.

I found ways of dealing with the fear, like for instance, singing. If there seemed to be some kind of threat to me, I would sing, to take my mind off it, or even to try and ward it off. Often, in bed at night, I could be found sitting up singing for all I was worth.  I became hyper vigilant also.

As I went through life, there were many things to be afraid of. I used to want to find a loophole. A way out. Sometimes, I did find a way out. This became my most used approach. It became habit. If you can run, run. If you can get away, get away. If you can get out if it, get out of it.

There were, I discovered, however, things that I could NOT get away from. Illness was one. But I had never faced anything as serious as cancer. I hoped and prayed that I would never have to. To me, that was the most dreaded thing in the world.

I have seen other people facing cancer, and I used to know that if ever I got it, I would not be like them. I would not be able to be brave.  It seemed to me that most of them did not feel fear. Or if they did, they were keeping it under wraps. I remember saying to my priest how terribly terribly AFRAID I was, thinking that I was failing because I could not be like others.  I felt ashamed,  and he simply said that EVERYONE is afraid, but many do not show it. I guess that made me feel a BIT better. But, I still felt a failure. That was the worst part of it. Failing at cancer.

I have spoken before about how I finally came around to facing it and accepting the treatment that I so feared. It was a process, for me. It didn’t happen all in a minute.

Today, I have been forcibly been reminded of that time. For us, it has been Palm Sunday. I did not go to Church, because I was too ill to go. I have not been very much at all lately, due to being ill. But I still think about things.

This evening, I “watched” a Passion Play on the internet, and it had the most powerful effect ever, upon me.

I know that many of you who read me are of different faiths to me, but I am sure that there are equivalents in all faiths. Whilst watching the Passion Play, I “saw” Jesus struggling, and grappling with what He knew lay ahead. His sweat was as drops of blood on the ground. So great was his fear. In the end, He surrendered and accepted what had to happen.  But as I “watched” I re-lived my own struggle with fear.  And the eventual process of being tied down.  Held down.  No way out.  No escape.  Once you are hooked up to that chemo, you are totally bound.  No way are you going to go anywhere!


Letting go the controls is the hardest thing in the world.  Abandoning yourself tovwhatever will happen.  And I distinctly remember saying to the chemo of which I was so afraid, “Do your worst.”  I had finally let go, and abandoned myself to whatever was to come.


My suffering, and what I had to face was nothing like that of Jesus.  But as I agonised before finally surrendering, I truly felt that MY sweat was as drops of blood on the ground.  And as they hooked me up, I remember saying, “Into Thy hands I commit my spirit.”  We knew not whether I was to live or die.  It was as the haematologist said, “in the lap of the Gods.”  The chemo was “a leap of faith.”  We knew not whether I was to live or die.  Snd all I could do was surrender.




I don’t know what changed me. I used to be so quiet. It wasn’t hard. I’d learned to be that way. Always the outsider.

My parents fought. I always had to be the little adult. Keep secrets. Look good. Recite poetry. I had to keep the secret. Be loyal. Hold up the sinking ship.

Always moving. Place to place. Never settling. No real friends. A thousand schools. I could never PARTICIPATE. I was a loner. Not through choice, but of necessity.

Keeping the secret was hard, but it became part of me. Silence became me. I learned it well.

But something changed. Now I wear shocking pink socks. And shout loud. Now I tell all.

What changed me?   Yes, I think I do know.  Cancer.


In the half light of morning
I live in a strange land
Awoken freshly from dreams
That make no sense but leave their taste
I wander through passageways
Following fear
Confused and stumbling
But soon the light increases
And I am again in open spaces
Free to wander
Like a child I grasp the light
Inhale it gladly
Relief bathes me as I sigh
I take the morning
Hold its hand
And know that once again
I am safe


The cold whistled around bodies that ached for relief. Relief of what? For everyone a different thing. Everyone was afflicted by something. And this was to be a day of deep drama. In fact some have said it was the most dramatic day in the history of the world. A day in which everyone’s afflictions clashed. The end result was always going to be the same though. There was no getting away from it. It had been brewing for a long time.

A scapegoat was needed. Someone to blame for all ills. Easy. The taking away of all responsibility for actions which left much to be desired. Although that was a knowledge that was buried so deep in the psyche as not to be recognised, never mind acknowledged.

It is hard to say what REALLY got into people that day. How circumstances worked such that everyone’s wounds came together, and worked for the destruction of one person. One person who was totally innocent of anything. A grave injustice was done that day.

The fastening down was the worst thing. There was no escape then. No way out. The suffering just had to be gone through. Unimaginable suffering. The innocent one prayed desperately for it not to happen. Sweat became blood. And there was to be much more of it. Blood, blood and more blood. But there was no other way. And at the end, the innocent one’s wounds mingled with the wounds of his murderers. And he prayed for them. He knew they did not understand the workings of their own minds. Or what they were doing.

He saw his mother standing there, weeping in utter desolation. Their eyes met. And they both knew. They knew that just as she had carried him in her womb, she now had to pluck him down from the cross, and, in time, carry him back into the world. She would have help. But in that moment, all she knew was pain. And the sky darkened, and the earth revolted.


WRITTEN AT CHOWDER NESS   near  to the estuary where three rivers go into the sea, whilst looking at the su set.



There is nothing between us now
I am at the edge
Looking in
And suddenly
I am there, part of the picture
But All One
As the sunset enters my soul
No longer a picture
But part of me
I part of it
And in this moment
I know


i see a crack

daylight peeps through my window

I wonder what it sees

for I can see nothing

but here I lie

wondering what is in this basket

that we call a new day

will it contain good things or bad

sweetmeats or sour grapes?

and will I need my suit of armour

or just my bare skin

to dance in the sunlight

will stones cut my feet

or soft sand tickle my toes?

will harsh words thrust into me like a sword

piercing the very heart of me

or will gentle words of love caress me?

i wake once more to pain

knowing not what this day will bring

i reach for the painkillers

hoping not

to knock out this new day





What is it about three o’clock in the morning that always wakes me?  Everything is quiet.  Even the dog is not barking.  The silence is awesome.

I suppose eventually I will get back to sleep.  After writing a haiku or two – or maybe three or four.  My brain has woken up.  The only sound I can now hear is my husband’s snoring.  But wait……….whatis that I hear?  A lone bird singing its heart out.  Morning must be approaching.


Surrounds the one
Who truly does Love’s will,
Love is not a clanging cymbal,
Announcing your prowess, seeking
For glorification,
I hear it all,
And cringe

Love is
Gentle, seeks not
To boast, nor dwells in pride,
Real love does not attack the weak,
Nor masks
The truth,
But lives in dying to the Self,
Steps back from the limelight,
Silently waits,

TREAD SOFTLY – a vilanelle

Tread softly as you go into the night,
For many before have journeyed on this road,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.

Do not let your dark thoughts cloud your sight,
Raging long while carrying your load,
Tread softly as you go into the night.

Take heart from those of old who in the fight,
Preserved within the promise of a heavenly abode,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.

The light cannot be quenched by grief’s great might,
Sing, for joy on you will be bestowed,
Tread softly as you go into the night.

Speak soft and gentle words when at the height
Of darkest struggles, do not goad,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.

Let not your heart be troubled, glimpse the bright
Joys ahead, sweet heavenly food,
Tread softly as you go into the night,
Soon will come the dawning of the light.


For those that read what happened to us at 3.30 in the mornng – hubby rang the police in the end, and they took it very seriously, saying that at that time in a morning it constituted a threat, and that if it happens again we should ring 999 imnediately

They felt that it might have been an intended attack on disabled people, since there are wheelchairs visible in the car, plus a Blue Badge.

On the other hand, there is the Ridge Walk up at the top of our road, that is a woided area, and a lot of trouble goes on there.  So it could have been someone up to no goid, having come down onto our road through the trees.

All all they were very going, when we thought they would treat us as a nuisance.   They said that it WAS a very frightening thing to happen at that time in a mirning.




We returned to this place, just above the river, the other evening – and once again, now that the Spring has come -heard a little wren singing!



On the hill above the river
Snow was falling, we did shiver,
A tiny wren its sweet song sang,
It seemed the air with pleasure rang,
Nature’s joy would last for ever

Autumn’s leaves the ground did cover,
Life it seemed began to wither,
Death in the winter’s air did hang,
On the hill

Who is it that is the giver,
Who is it that calls us hither,
Do we hear the bell clang,
Do we feel the deepest pang?
On the rule do we all slither
On the hill


We’ve  had a bit of a bad night!  If you have read one or two of thE poems I posted in the night it will give you a clue.  I woke at 3.30 in the morning to a very loud knocking on our front door.  Someone was knocking with the brass door knocker that actualky hardly anyone ever uses.


The very loud knocking came once, and although I felt terrified I didn’t wake my husband.  It is most unusual for anyone to wander in a drunken or drugged up state into our road as it is tucked  away and not easy to find.  I thought it best just to lie still and quiet and wait to see what happened.  None of our neighbours would have just knocked – if they needed help they would have shouted as well.  I thought at first that it might be the police to tell me something had happened to my mum.  That did happen once before.


sooooo, I waited.  Then it knocked again – quite insistently.  I still didn’t wake my husband.  He sleeps through ANYTHING.  I was terrified, but then heard someone either kicking or thumping our car in the driveway.  Then……….silence.


About  half an hour later, still feeling terrified, I did wake my husband.  He looked out of the window but could see nothing.


I eventually did drop back off the sleep but kept waking up.


soooooo we have had ragher a disturbed night!!!   AND  I have finally awoken in the most horrible pain.  Hoping it passes!!!




Dance to the rhythm of your soul
Chance your life in abandonment
Lance all your fears let them all go
Enhance your world in the energy flow

Throw off the things that hold you back
Go to the place that’s really you
Grow in stature don’t let them win
Show your demons what you can do


The mourning dove cried out one morn
And I cried too in loud lament
Such grief I knew, my heart was torn
The mourning dove cried out one morn
And as I cried I was forlorn
In agony my garments rent
The mourning dove cried out one morn
And I cried too in loud lament