Posted on July 17 2019


Wheat fields
You undress me
Stripping me of falsehoods
That invaded my wounded soul,
Me then
In the pure white of my childhood
When joys were young and blithe
Dancing and free

My soul this day
Throw away all the chains
That kept in place the clothes of black
That seemed
So white
And now keep me safe for ever
Entwined in innocence
Like spotless lamb
Take me


Perchance one day I might see
Bubbles of your love rising
In early morning slumber
Stretch out and feel your warm hand
And know you holding me

Perchance one day I might wake
To an early morning embrace
Gentle and soft like cotton wool
Taking me to the highest place
And feel you kissing me

Perchance one day I might know
Safety once again
And rest in those precious streams
And green meadows
Where so often I have lain


As I write I am sitting in the early morning, just after sunrise, and the sheer freshness and beauty of the morning fills my soul with joy. It is not often that I wake up like this, for normally I am in pain. But today is beautiful. There are few sounds outside except the calling of the doves and the wood pigeons, and my soul is drawn to the woods again. We have some beautiful woods at the top of our road, and at night you can hear the distinctive hoot of the tawny owl. It never fails to stir my soul.

I know that I will never see those woods again, or even indeed go to them, for they are inaccessible to me now. But I can dream. I can imagine. I can go back in time and relive what I once knew. Sometimes doing that makes me unbearably sad, and at other times it feeds my soul and makes me happy.

As I write , I hear an aeroplane in the sky, and in these days of pandemic I wonder where it is going or where it has come from. Now a train makes a long hooting sound on the nearby tracks, just beyond the crematorium, which, incidentally, is very beautiful, and a bird watcher’s Paradise!

I can feel that it is getting lighter and lighter. The wood pigeons are ramping up, and a little bird has now set up a tuneful solo in our corkscrew willow tree. I don’t know why, but huge fat pigeons love to land in our willow tree and snooze on the tiniest thinnest branch of all that can hardly bear their weight. The branch waves around madly and the pigeons almost fall off but somehow or other always manage to stay fixed to the branch!

I wonder when the squirrel will appear. He often takes a leisurely stroll down our road, and sometimes sits on our fence.

The baby sparrows are  big now, all having learnt how to fly. It doesn’t seem five minutes since both mum and dad were feeding them on our back garden fence. Time flies doesn’t it, pandemic or not.

It’s strange, but I can hardly remember life before the pandemic. Will we ever return to normal? Whatever, the wildlife is oblivious to it all, and just carries on as normal.



Hubby ordered lots of different kinds of potatoes in the Tescos Delivery, because usually you don’t get any at all, if you just order one kind. They  say they are out of them.  So you have no potatoes for the week.  So in order to try and get SOME, hubby ordered all these different kinds.  And you know what?  Yeah.  You GOT it – they all CAME!  Now we’ve got more potatoes than we know what to do with.  Anyone?  😀


I saw him lying at the edge of the road. Bruised, tattered, wounded. He couldn’t get up. His eyes pleaded with me. I sensed that he was used to pleading. To no avail. No one heard him. No one noticed him. He was just scum. A reject. And he knew it. This was the way of things. He’d always been an outcast. There were laws you see. Rules. He was unclean. People like him should not tarnish the good, clean ones. He should be out of sight. And he was – almost, here on the roadside. It would have been easy to walk on without seeing him.

I looked into his eyes. I saw everything. The love, the hate, the anger, the jealousy. And I knew that I was looking at myself. I felt an empathy. A great love flooded my soul. This man was not dirty. He was not something of which to be afraid. He had no power to tarnish others. He was just like me. Just like all of us.

I bent down, and caressed  his face. Then I gently picked him up. He could hardly stand. But I supported him. I gave him water. I gave him food. I looked into his eyes again. He was blind. A reject. An outcast from society. Unclean. But as I gently held him, gave him water, and food, I saw that he could see so clearly. Far more than I could see.

I moved as if to take him back into the town. He stiffened. I sensed him saying,

“No, please don’t take me back there.” He was afraid.

“I will be crucified if you take me back,” I sensed him saying. He never said the words, but I could still hear them.

I didn’t want to leave him. But once I had given him food and water, I knew that I had to. He was safer here than in the town. As I moved to continue on my way, I looked into his eyes again, and heard the word “Thankyou” spoken from the depths of his spirit.

I continued on my way, a changed man.

NOTE: in certain parts at a certain time, blind people were outcasts in society, and banished from towns and cities. Left to fend for themselves on the open road.


How far can I run?
The hole deepens
Full of so much garbage
The weight of the world
That I inhabit
One day I will melt
Into the earth
In dust
Light as light
In darkness
Is all an illusion?
“I think
Therefore I am”
But am I?
Tell me my friend
Who are you?


And so

What do you do

When you reach the end

And you have fallen

A million times

Or so it seems

Because you are blind

And you cannot walk

And you have cried

And you have screamed

And you have been rejected


When all you wanted

Was a voice

And when someone else

Pours their woes

Onto you

What do you do?

You pull yourself up




Wanting really only

To die

You think of ways

To end it all

But then


You pull yourself up

And you walk again

Through your lonely day

Needing only

A human touch

Yes, you do,

You pull yourself up

Until next time



One day

I will tell the truth

about my life

and the  truth will shock

you will recoil

i may even disgust you

and so

i do not speak

of the reality

of my life

much as I want to

for my reality

would drive you away

and then

i would be even more friendless

than I am

i do not see beauty

in each day

when I wake

i feel fear

wondering if I will get through

wondering if my husband

my only Carer

will fall out

of his wheelchair


or forget

to turn the gas off


Or pee himself


i feel exhaution

as I try

to drag my body round

banging into things

as I go

unable to see

falling onto the toilet

because I do not know where it is

and I cannot stand

my body aches

and hurts

and my skin

itches like fury

from the neuropathy

chemo stinks


each day

is supposed

to bring hope

but for me

it is just



and some days

an inability

to carry on

and even in

reaching out

you get rebuffed

when all you want

is to hear a voice

a kind word

an understanding

that yes

for you

life is SHIT







How does one wwrite a poem about anger?  I am so angry.  I do not normally suffer from anger, because it is such a destructive emotion that I made a decision years ago to cut it out of my life.  But it is the most painful emotion I have ever felt.  I am ANGRY right now.  With life.  With our government.  With so many people.  Reasons.

I don’t know what you do with anger, because if you push it inwards it becomes depression.  Then that leads you on a downward spiral.  I hate anger.

I am on a short fuse.  It is life.  This bloidy virus that has torn our world apart.  The enforced isolatin.  No voices at the other end of the phone.  Just NO ONE.  Dealing with blindness and disability.  With no help.  And whenever yountry to reach out and contact someone they don’t want to know.  People who profess so mych, but who  give so little.

Yes, I am angry.  An anger that comes from isolation and deep despiar and a need for human touch.


I have no time
For wasters
Who dredge me dry
Draining my well
Leaving me parched
I have no time
For sycophants
Who live on borrowed time
Basking in someone else’s light
Thieves and hypocrites
Stealing the limelight
For a moment’s glory
I have no time
For mine is gone
And I have none to give to you


What a contrast last night between the shopping mall and the pregnant sheep in the field in the setting sun. Each spoke differently.

The shopping mall, though kind of operative again, has a dead feel to it. Nothing like it used to be. And yesterday afternoon the fountain was turned off again. There were hardly any cars there, which is far from normal. It feels weird because Gregg’s is open, and the Cup Cake shop, and the music was playing. Normally people would get their sandwich or whatever, and a coffee or cold drink, and sit on the grass around the fountain. People would be carrying plants, and flowers from the flower shop near the fountain. Or they would be sitting at the tables outside, just relaxing. Kids would be playing with balls, or whatever, and running in and out of the fountain, getting their clothes drenched! Mums and Dads did it quite often too!

But yesterday there was no life. Yes, people were doing a bit of shopping, but actually, most of them were hurrying. No stopping in the warm sunshine and relaxing, talking to one another. I felt as though someone was trying to create an illusion of happiness and normality. The spaced out queues said it all.

In the evening however, we felt that we had touched LIFE again. We had not realised before that the sheep were pregnant, although we go past them most days. But just to see the movement of a lamb in the belly of the sheep almost sent us into ecstasy. Here was REAL LIFE, not the death of life as we know it.

In nature there is still hope.


NEW LIFE COMING – Sunset at Wildsworth


Last night we drove through Wildsworth again.  Some of you may remember our strange but wonderful experience with the sun last year.  Last night, the sun was just about to set, and it illuminated the sheep in the field.  We were by the river, and the field is just by the river too.  These are some of the photos we took.  But as we were looking, or at least, hubby was looking, he suddenly saw the belly of one of the sheep moving up and down, and he realised that it was a lamb inside the sheep, kicking.  How amazing.  He had thought on previous days as we passed by the field that the sheep looked as if they had rather large bellies and wondered if they were about to lamb.  It is very late in the year here for sheep to be lambing, but this farmer keeps rare breeds.  We are looking forwards to there being little lambs in the field very soon. We might even see one being born, like we did last year!



The flame dies,
The candle goes out,
Everything has its season,
Things and people come and go,
Without any reason,
We search in vain for something that lasts,
We feel our grief and loss,
As the darkness enfolds us
We open our hearts
And find one true lasting light,
Taking us into the future


Is short
You call me
Back to the earth
Always we were dust
Soon I will lie scattered
In the lushness of Your love
There to rest for eternity
Oh sweetness bathe my aching soul
Washing away all sorrow and pain
Here in Your love I will rest for ever


What is, is
Smiles come when they are ready
Tears come when they need to come
A donkey cannot be a kangaroo
Nor a lion an elephant
Life is like a jigsaw
Things only fit a certain way
Pain comes when we try to make ourselves fit
The way someone else wants us to
And simply extends the process we are going through
One day
I will be allowed
To be




Above is a very special photograph of a very special place. It is my grandparents’ farm, which was once a Grange to a monastery. Well, a Priory, to be exact. Thornholme Priory in Lincolnshire.

I have written quite a lot in my blog about my grandparents’ farm and how it was the most wonderful place in the world to me, as a child. It was my refuge. A place of warmth, love and light, in the midst of what was in other ways a horrible childhood. It was the place I always wanted to be. The place I wanted to run away to from my parents.

This is the place where I used to walk up the long lane at nights, with my grandmother, to the road that went down into the village, to put the milk checks out for the milkman in the morning. I have recounted often, how even as a three year old, I would look up at the vast night sky, and the twinkling stars and ask my grandmother where God was. She said she didn’t know, but that He must be up there somewhere. Then eventually she concluded, “He’s everywhere.” Upon which, when I got back to the farm I sat in a chair and announced that I was sitting on God.

It was a magical place, but to me, then, it was just a farm. I say “just” but even that was amazing to me. Simply a beautiful and wonderful place of welcome, where I felt safe and loved and happy. Enveloped, I would say.

It was not until more recently that I discovered its real history as a Grange of Thronholme Priory. Hence its name, “Grange Farm.” I imagine that my grandfather, whom we called  “Pop,” knew about it from the Deeds of the farm. But he never said anything. It was just a farm to us all.

Pop had had a very varied and interesting life prior to marrying my grandmother. He was much older than her, having been lumberjacking in Canada, following which he travelled through America, then into South America, where he ended up in Argentina on a ranch where he had cattle. He owned the ranch, so when he finally returned to England, he was able to buy a substantial farm. This is where my mother grew up, and of course her brothers and one sister. It was not “posh” at all. But my grandmother used to love the men from the village coming up to the farm, where she would feed them. Whenever I was there, there were always lots of people around the large dinner table. Roast beef was often on the menu, or shepherds pie, followed usually by apple pie, the apples from the trees in the orchard having been picked in the autumn and then preserved wrapped in newspaper, in a box, for use throughout the year.

My mother and I were always intrigued by the “pointy windows” that you can see in the middle of the photograph. Also the big heavy wooden door that was inches thick, and so heavy that you could hardly pull it open at all. My mother always used to say it felt like a church, but she had no idea just what she had hit on. She knew before she died, however, because I and my husband researched its history. And we were amazed. Indeed, those WERE church windows, sort of. This is how the Grange from Thornholme Priory would have been built way back in the 1400s, which this farm dates from. You will see that other windows are more modern. Some are sash windows. Some were put in in Victorian times, and one or two were put in by my two Uncles when the old windows gave up the ghost.

It was strange how we came to discover that the farm was a Grange of Thornholme Priory. We found an old map upon which it is clearly marked that this was Thornholme Priory land. Thornholme Priory itself was a good few miles away, about twenty, as the crow flies. Monasteries and Priories often had Granges miles away from where they were. They were farmed by the Lay Brothers. Indeed, there was always a well stocked fish pond too, to feed the Brothers. In one of the fields, when I was young, I could always see a fish pond.

I imagine there would have been a Chapel of some kind inside the Grange. This was backed up by research.  Probably even an altar to “Our Lady.” Though this is just conjecture.  Certainly the Brothers would have had to have Daily Prayers. Also, in those days, at 6 in the morning, noon, and 6 in the evening, everyone would stop whatever they were doing, even in the fields where they were working, and bow their heads and say the Angelus. At that exact time a bell would ring out from the nearest church, declaring that it was time to say the Angelus, and it was called the Angelus bell. I have actually got on my wall in our living room, the painting called “The Angelus,” but with being blind I can no longer see it. It is of two people, a man and a woman, working in a field, having stopped, facing each other, with their heads bowed, saying the Angelus.

In my hall I also have a picture of Thornholme Priory as it would have been in the 1400s. Nothing of it exists now. And sadly, my grandparents’ farm has been pulled down. It was declared unsafe. However, when they tried to demolish it, it stood firm and refused to be demolished. It took many many attempts with the huge wrecking ball to finally demolish it. I wonder what the farmhouse was saying? It broke all our hearts.


As my site dwindles even further I am experimenting with dictating what I want to say in my blog. I have discovered that when I have tried to dictate things in the past into various other things it does not pick up my speech correctly and I end up with all kinds of bloomers. I have got to the point now however, whereby I am having great difficulty in posting and therefore I am going to have to use my dictation software.

This is really just a practice run and I am simply going to tell you what our day has consisted of. In fact we haven’t really done very much at all except to go out for a drive this afternoon to the little church that I like to go to and there is I have said before it is not open so I am not able to go into it but I can go into the grounds and just sit if I want to.

Before we went to the little church we went to the shopping mall and we didn’t stop and sit at all but just looked to see how many people were there and what was happening. We had a quick look at McDonald’s on the way past wondering about whether to get a coffee or not but we still feel rather nervous of going whether our other people and even though restrictions are in place and it is meant to be safe we still don’t feel truly safe. So I think we will be going coffee less for a long time yet.

I am wondering just how many bloomers have appeared in what I have just written. Sometimes the things that come out are absolutely hilarious. But we will see.

If anyone reading this is blind I really would welcome any input in how to deal with posting things in WordPress. Everyone seems to do so well in here and I am sure that I will never match up to what all the rest of you who are blind manage to do. But I can at least try. I am trying to understand the different technologies and sort out in my head what it would be best for me to do.   I do not use a laptop at the moment although we have just purchased one in the hopes of being able to put things onto it to help me. At the moment I am using an iPad. My head feels in rather well at the moment as I try to negotiate all the various things that are available. Anyone out there who is blind I would really welcome your help


Fandango’s Friday Flashback — July 10

Stay with me until the morning
Stay until the new day’s dawning
Let me know your touch so strong
The new day won’t be very long
I close my eyes my soul is yawning

I am so tired and I am yearning
To rest in peace my world is turning
I hear kind Nature’s eternal song
Stay with me

Let sleep dispel my spirit’s churning
All things rest my flame is burning
Inward light does call me on
The light that always in me shone
A new call now I am discerning
Stay with me





The fountain leaps in the shopping mall,
As it sprays in the air I hear it sing,
I see white froth glisten in the bright sunlight
With my mind’s eye, now that I’ve lost my sight,
Its singing gaily invites me to dance,
While sitting here in my wheelchair.

I never expected to be in a wheelchair,
Unable to walk in the shopping mall,
But deep inside me still lives the dance,
As my spirit leaps high and begins to sing,
Life swells within though I have no sight,
And I dance in the warmth of the bright sunlight.

Oh how wonderful is the sunlight,
Shining down as I sit in my wheelchair,
No one can tell that I have no sight,
As they pass me by in the shopping mall,
For I know such joy, I can only sing,
My eyes shining bright in the gay sunlight.

I think I was born to the rhythm of dance,
For everything leaps when I feel the sunlight,
Deep down within me a new song I sing,
I can’t be confined by my wheelchair,
While everyone walks through the shopping mall,
Not knowing a life without sight.

I only can walk by faith, not by sight,
That gives me the power to dance,
The fountain of life’s in the shopping mall,
Leaping so high in the sunlight,
I can do anything as I sit in my wheelchair,
As all of creation starts to sing.

I know I was born to dance and sing,
It matters not that I’ve lost my sight,
Or that I can only live in my wheelchair,
Come join with me in life’s glorious dance,
In the bright rays of the sunlight,
Shining today in the shopping mall.

In the shopping mall I have no sight,
But all I can do is sing as I dance,
The sunlight falling on my wheelchair.



Wild place
You minister
To me, washing away
the soil Of vain accusations
My face
Like the surgeon’s knife cutting out
The diseased parts that sting
From the harsh words

The wind
Blies gently now
Soothing the raw places
Opening up the way for tears
I bathe in theur pool, my wounds cleansed
Vulnerable I sit
My soul open
To joy


I sat today in the shopping mall
The music was blasting out
As if to say things were normal again
Lulling us into a stupor

The music was blasting out
The fountain was doing a dance
Lulling us into a stupor
In front of an empty Costas

The fountain was doing a dance
It didn’t have an audience
In front of an empty Costas
One or two people passed by

It didn’t have an audience
Kids were in short supply
One or two people passed by
Faces set emotionless

Kids wre in short supply
Everyone socially distanced
Faces set emotionless
Grassy banks eerily empty

Everyone socially distanced
Shopping matter of fact
Grassy banks eerily empty
Queues snaking round the mall

Shopping matter of fact
No one laughing and talking
Queues snaking round the mall
Flower shop hardly blooming

No one laughing and talking
Even in summer colours
Flower shop hardly blooming
Lavender dying down

Even in summer colours
Everyone’s face was drab
I sat today in the shopping mall
Music was blasting out



Blast off
Do you hear me
I go up in the air
To the tune that you sing
The song
Is not a pretty one but harsh
Grating cacophony
A web of lies

Of me blasted
All around in the wake
Of your categorisation
Insult that did not become you
You should have known better
Did you not learn

Glued back
Together now
I am whole again though
Scarred by your words that assaulted
My soul
Still lives
Though I walked through the fire blazing
Never could your words kill
I stand here strong
And proud


Slowly my eyes open to the morning
I rub away the memories of yesterday
The new day drops into my vision
I greet it with all that I have within me

I rub away the memories of yesterday
A blank page sits before me
I greet it with all that I have within me
What will my life write today?

A blank page sits before me
White unblemished stain free
What will my life write today?
All creation sits in my fingers

White unblemished stain free
Nothing to tarnish the life in my soul
All creation sits in my fingers
I hold it now with holy awe

Nothing to tarnish the life in my soul
Freedom fills the space that I made
I hold it now with holy awe
Ready to dwell in this sacred space

Freedom fills the space that I made
My wings have grown strong and soon I will fly
I hold them now with holy awe
Poised in anticipation of the flight

My wings have grown strong and soon I will fly
Though the world hangs heavy around my neck
Poised in anticipation of the flight
I break through the barriers make this new space

Though the world hangs heavy around my neck
I’m light as a dewdrop within my soul
Slowly my eyes open to the morning
I rub away the memories of yesterday


Outside the church the tall oak stood
Centuries old this ancient wood
So much life it had seen pass by
Never asking the question why
Though much had died in life’s deep flood

Springtime saw the tree in bud
Life rising now that felt so good
Raptors dancing in the sky
Outside the church

Life’s pain is never understood
If only like the birds we could
Fly up in the sky so high
Letting out a joyful cry
Free from sorrows sinking mud
Outside the church


I don’t know what it is about rivers and willow trees but anyway…..  here goes…..another older one


By the river the willow stood
Weeping for all that was lost that was good
Bowed down with grief sore tears did fall
How could she bear this bitter gall
It seemed her name was written in blood

Her life was gone however could
She carry now her cross of wood
With every step she took a fall
By the river

But light would come, the green tree would
Bear again the bright Spring’s bud
Hear once more the sweet birds call
Hope spread its strong wings over all
There never would be old deadwood
By the river


Yesterday we went for a drive and ended up at the shopping mall where we always used to go before the pandemic. It is in the form of a huge square, and all the shops go round in this square, if you see what I mean. It is a lovely shopping mall, with a beautiful fountain and a lovely flower shop in one corner of it. Around the fountain are areas of grassy banks where you can sit, and where the kids play. There are some seats too, and some walls with flower beds on the top of them. It is very beautiful. There are coffee shops just near to the fountain with tables outside, and on a summer’s day it is so lovely.

Since lockdown it has been horrible. Metal barriers everywhere, keeping people encased within them whilst queuing to go into the shops. People all spaced out, snaking round the mall. There is an M&S Food Store (it ONLY sells food) and my hubby used to go in there each day to buy food for our evening meal, but when lockdown happened, he could no longer go in there, being in a wheelchair. He could not join the queue, and if he had have got inside the store there would have been no one to help him, as usual, as of course the assistants could not go near him. They used to carry his basket for him, and then bring the shopping out to the car for him and deposit it on the back seat of the car. This was good because we could purchase chilled meals which only needed microwaving. A boon for disabled people. Most chilled meals are not brilliant, but theirs are very good. So we have missed that.

There are other stores, like Wilkos that sells all sorts, like things for the home, toiletries, paint to paint your rooms with, table lamps, bedding, cushions. You know the sort of thing. Then there is a very posh and expensive store called Browns. One lipstick in there costs £20! They sell clothes, shoes, and perfume too. Lovely to look at, but too expensive to go into!

There is a Mountain Warehouse where you can let your imagination go wild, thinking you are a great Explorer or mountain climber or something. In reality it is good for buying storm proof coats etc. Lol. Or just rain proof coats. Nice bright colours though!

There is a Next, where I used to be able to purchase my soft cotton trousers (pants) from as I need to be comfortable so can’t wear ordinary trousers or pants. I need room to move,much as I might like to go back to my denim jeans! However, they have stopped selling those now and seems to have gone for stuff that will only fit or appeal to teeny boppers! I want some of the harim pants that they used to sell, in gorgeous designs and colours, but no, they don’t sell them any more.

So as you can see, there are various shops in there – a jewellers, a card shop, The Works, where I can buy my writing equipment (i can still write longhand by putting my thum or a finger at the edge of the blank page and trying to keep a straight line with a thick felt tipped pen – I just can’t see to read back what I have just written!). Costas is there too, and Greggs where you can buy a sandwich. A phone shop, an opticians, a gym, and I think that is about it.

But the highlight of it all for me was the wonderful fountain. We would spend hours there. But it has been closed off all during lockdown. But yesterday, HALLELUJAH, it had been opened again. Wow! I cannot tell you what that did for me. That wonderful Leaping Fountain. Thank God for small things!



AN OLD POEM AGAIN.  Yesterday we drove through the forest near to where we live. Although I could not walk in it as I used to with my dogs, I could smell the pine, and sense the deep dark green.  There are some sandy hillocks in there as well, that I used to climb with my dogs.  Happy days.  I love the forest.

Forest, you enfold me
Under your canopy of purest green
Setting my senses free

I feel you though I cannot see
Hear the Living Waters teem
Forest you enfold me

Remembering how I used to be
In sacred space I sit and dream
Setting my senses free

My heart, my mind, my will agree
Working together as a team
Forest you enfold me

Your spirit lets me know that we
Do not need “sight” on which to lean
Forest you enfold me
Setting my senses free


Hi everyone.  Just to say that once again I am very aware that I have not responded to all your lovely comments.  You know, they really do my heart good.  And the humorous ones do too lol.

Whilst posting my poems and stories is not so hard (although today even that has fallen by the wayside due to very deep depression overtaking me). Responding is much harder.  I get in a real mess with it at times lol.

But I really really really DO want you to know that I read every one of your lovely comments, and they always uplift me.  They mean a lot to me.

It seems that at this moment investigations  for possible cancer again are not going to be undertaken.  With the coronavirus and all so it is all that, they do not want us near the hospital unless it is an extreme emergency.  They are not doing cancer testing for some things.  So it is a case of watch and wait with me right now.  I am ok with that.  At least it is not an emergency.

But please bear with me and forgive me if I get a bit behind in replying to you and know that I appreciate deeply every single comment.  Deeply.  I don’t even mind if you pull a poem to pieces and say how and where it is not so good,  i don’t mind that sort of feedback either, because it helps me to know if I have written rubbish lol.  I love constructive criticism!  Helps me to improve!

So thankyou everyone once again for still reading me and keeping me company in here.  You’re an amazing crowd.


Is anybody in here a hermit?

A strange question you might think. If you were a hermit you would probably not be on WordPress, and using modern day technology! At least, that’s what most people think.

There are modern day hermits who do use technology, and the idea of being a hermit is to live in the desert in your own mind and heart, leading a life of virtual solitude. If anyone wishes to give a different interpretation than this, then please do so. I am open to everything.

But, I feel, more and more, that life has brought me to this place, both physically and spiritually, and today I decided that a hermit I want to be, a hermit in an ordinary house, with a Rule of Life, time to meditate and think, and of course write.

I guess that in some ways I have been doing that already. Life just brought me to this place, and though we all need ither people, for me, this has not happened, and I am basically alone. So I thought that maybe I ought to do it properly. And write about it each day. I thought of starting a new blog somewhere called  “Blind Hermit.” But not sure yet.

I would still go out to wild and isolated places and meditate. Nature would be part of it. If I had my choice I would have a proper hermitage in some isolated place, but that is not possible. So somehow or other I have to create this hermitage where I am.

Is anyone else here basically a hermit? I would love to hear from you.

But even if you are not, I would welcome your thoughts and ideas.



“It looks a bit big on the shoulder,” she said, pulling up the coat. The assistant was SMILING. Well, kind of. It was one of those smiles that were somewhere between a smile and a grimace, but, wanting to appear patient, the assistant pulled on the shoulder of the coat, and said,

“It’s the fashion nowadays.”

“Fashion or not, I know when something sits right and when it doesn’t,” said June. “I like the colour though. It suits her. Have you anything else in the same colour?”

“I’m onto a winner here,” thought the assistant to herself. “I’m halfway there. She likes the colour.”

“Errm, I’m sorry. No, I haven’t.”

June looked at her daughter, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. Why did mum always have to dress her how SHE wanted to? Old fashioned and frumpy.

The assistant tried once again to re-arrange the shoulder of the coat on Sadie’s teenaged body. But she had to admit to herself, it was not really teenager style. She said nothing, however. If she played her cards right she could be in for a killing here.

“How about if we thread a nice silk scarf through the lapels,” she suggested. Then no one will notice the shoulders. They’ll just see the pretty scarf.”

Sadie shuffled from foot to foot, getting more and more impatient. Why couldn’t she just go off and buy her own coat? But no. June had taken control all her life, and was not going to let go now.

But Sadie had other ideas. Suddenly, she got hold of the offending coat, took it off, threw it onto a chair, and made a beeline for a bright yellow plastic coat that was residing in the shop window. It had huge black buttons on it, and a kind of black belt affair.

“Here,” she said. “THIS is what I want.

Putting it on, the assistant was well pleased. It was twice the price of the wine coloured thing, and, with a bit of luck she might be able to sell them a pair of black plastic knee high boots as well. So there it was. SORTED!

#FOWC. Penchant

FOWC with Fandango — Penchant

She’d always had a bit of a PENCHANT for grapes. But they had to be sweet. And her idea of sweet was not everyone else’s idea of sweet.

She stood looking at them in the Supermarket.

“Sweet and juicy,” it said on the packaging. But she was used to purchasing them, then getting them home and discovering that, in her book, they were far from sweet.

And so she took to stealing. Well, one grape at a time that was, or maybe two. It started out as one, but ended up being more and more. From the market that was, where there was no packaging around the gorgeous looking bunches of grapes. She would home in on the stall, and quite openly pinch a grape, pop it in her mouth, and pass judgement on it. But sometimes it would become quite a few grapes. Until, that was, she got caught by the stall holder.

“Hey, what do you think you are doing? That’s stealing,” he yelled. “I’ll get the police onto you.”

But Betty didn’t care. She just shrugged her shoulders and continued on her way. At 86 years old there wasn’t much they could do to her. Was there?



And now a line is drawn
Immoveable, stubborn
Keeping the past intact
The future uncertain
A blank page upon which to write my life
Once I could see, now I am blind
So how will I see the marks I make?
Will I feel them in my heart?
Can I create a new song?
Or is there nothing new under the sun?
And is the line really so stubborn
Or does it have a weak part
Where the past peeps through
Squiggles through a tiny hole
Making its appearance unexpectedly
Do its notes become part of the new song
Rising up to the sky
Like the lark in the morning