“ABIDE with me, fast falls the eve tide.” The notes rang out in the crowded street and Janice bit her lip as she listened. She began to INCH forwards a little bit to try and see better, and as she did so her foot slid on a damp LEAF. She managed to stop herself going down onto the ground however.

As she stood, she remembered. She remembered that he had sung “Abide with me” as he had raped her. Normally she would almost pass out when she heard that being sung. But today was different. She was going to weather it. It was important to her that she did that.


So many years have passed
And we are used to one another
So comfortable
That even the things that we don’t like
Are like jewels
Embroidered into our lives
So many years have passed
Since that bright day
When i walked
To be united with you
In word and song
And vows that last for ever
And oh what dancing there was
So many years have passed
And now we cannot dance
But the dancing never ceased
For today we dance in our hearts
And we sing with the song of the birds
The dance and the song go on for ever
We live and die together
For the vow can never be broken
So many years have passed
And your breathing goes on
We breathe together
As one
Time is long
Eternity unfathomable
But the song and the dance are eternal
Breathe on my love


I posted a possible beginning to Capter 1 the other day but in fact this one was the first one that I wrote, which I think might like better. I will see what response this one gets.

I opened the car window and turned my eyes towards the path up to the little church that had come to mean so much to me. All that I could see in front of me was a thick white mist. The rustic woodn gate that opened onto the path was completely obliterated by the white mist. In fact, I could see nothing at all. Just a few months ago I had been able to see both the gates and the path, though they were very blurred. I felt a physical pain go through me as I realised that this was it. I was blind.

I had known for a few years that I was going blind, and everything happened gradually. Bit by bit things disappeared, and it felt like a long process of saying “Goodbye” to everything that I knew. More and more I was becoming separated from the world that everyone else inhabited and I was living in a world of my own where only the senses of hearing, taste and smell were left. Both sight and touch had gone.

As I looked at the white mist, I determined that, whatever the obstacles, I would make my way up that path somehow. Added to all the other difficulties I was also mostly wheelchair bound, though I could walk a short distance with my walking frame. I had to decide whether to try and walk up the path with my walking frame or whether to ask my husband to get my power chair out for me. Being fiercely independent, I opted for the walking frame. Not that independence figured much in my life but inside me I had an independent spirit. Inside me I was going to fly.

I grasped onto the walking frame, and began to move slowly and painfully forwards. Soon I came to the wooden gate, and took my hand off thte walking frame. Reaching up to the top of the gate I attempted to find the latch iinorder to open the gate. I scrabbled around for quite a time until I heard the latch going up. Wobbling precariously around, since I had no balance either, I began pulling the gate open with one hand, moving my frame backwards with the other hand at the same time. Eventually I got the gate completely open and was able to walk very slowly up the path. Unable to have a blind cane, because I was holding onto the walking frame, I had little idea of exactly where the grass was. I felt decidedly disorientated, but the wind was blowing gloriously in my face, and, cold as it was, I felt exhilarated. I stopped, just enjoying the feel of the wind, but I did not know whether I could make it right up the path and to the door of the church or not. It was many months since I had done this, and now, my eyesight was completely gone. I knew that if I did make it to the door of the church I would not be able to go inside as the door would be locked, but I woud have felt a great sense of achievement, and I could have thought back to those days when life was much simpler. Gradually, as my sight had gone, I had lost every scrap of independence that I had had. The whitish grey mist was now a part of my life, and I had to try and make the best of it. This represented my effort to do just that. However, upon getting about halfway up the path I felt too nervous to go any further. Having no balance I was afraid of falling, and being completely unable to see the path ahead, I felt slightly dizzy. Reluctantly I decided to turn around and go back to the car.


One day the darkness overcame her
The earth covered her
The dampness ate into her,
Stifled, she tried to scream
But there was no breath in her body
Lifeless she lay there
This could not be it
Her soul still lived
This could not be her final breath
Slowly she began to move her fingers
Stiffened by the dank earth
They struggled to move
The resistance of the earth
Held them
She remembered she was dust
But in the dust
The Valley of dry bones
Life lived again
Her fingers curled around a tiny stone
She felt its sharp edges
And knew she was not dead
And that life could live again
And suddenly her scream was born
And in the screaming
She was brought to life again
The darkness pierced

GOING BLIND – Beginning of Chapter 1

In front of me as we parked outside the little church was a greyish white mist obliterating everything. The narrow path up to the wooden gate that I knew so well and had walked up many times before was in distinct. This was a very special place to me, but no longer could I see anything. I was blind. I had become blind as a result of a serious cancer that I had had some years previous. I had known that I was going blind, but this was a shock to me. The last time we had been to this place I had been able to just make out the path, but now, it was completely gone and as I realised this, a sharp pain went through my body, and tears came to my eyes. I had spent many happy times here in the past, it being my place of refuge and sanctuary. I was a lover of solitude, and inside the little church was where I found it. Many were the times that I had walked up the path to the wooden gate, unlatched it, and made my way round to the heavy wooden door of the church which, for some reason, was painted bright red. I had pushed the door open, and been confronted by the darkness within, for the windows did not let in much light, and the place was dominated by dark oak pews and a dark oak rood loft that seemed to fill the tiny church. It was so tiny that it took only forty steps to get from the back to the front of it. I would sit there at the back of the church, sometimes looking up towards the altar, and sometimes looking out through the wooden door as a shaft of sunlight fell upon the ancient stone floor. I would look at the trees, moving gently as the breeze blew the branches around, singing a song all of its own as It did so. I would hear the birds singing too, and my heart would be glad. As I sat there in the darkness of the church I felt myself to be in touch with Something far bigger than I – Something wonderful and mysterious. It was Something that permeated the whole of my being, and spoke directly to my heart. I came to know its voice, and to fall silent before it. I had a sense of awe and wonder, and yet this Something had a strange intimacy about it and it spoke intimately to my soul. Sometimes, however, I would feel as if I was dancing, though I could not physically dance, as I was unable to walk very much as a result of the cancer.

As I sat in the car, my face turned towards the path, I longed to walk up it once again and find my sanctuary inside the church, but it felt impossible. I could not see and I could not walk. Yet the path was like a magnet to me, drawing me to it, and suddenly I knew what I was going to do. Nothing was going to hold me back. I asked my husband to get my walking frame and put it by my door, and, determinedly but nervously I got out of the car, stood up, took hold of the walking frame with both hands, and began walking up the path to the wooden gate. Normally I would be in a wheelchair, b



We could turn that into a DRESSING room,” he said brightly.

Cynthia, usually the quiet one suddenly became very VERBAL.

“And what do you think you’re going to use for money,” she snapped.

“Well we’ve got your inheritance,” he said. “And we could get a new sports car and I could buy those spiffing golf clubs that they’ve got in the shop down the road.”

Without any more ADO she picked up the table lamp at the side of the bed and threw it at him.

Sent from my iPad


Can we see light? The Collins English Dictionary describes light as “the brightness that lets us see things.”

We usually associate light and seeing with the eyes. Unless something pulls us up on this, we may well believe that it is only possible to see with the eyes. But what if the eyes fail? What if the eyes do not work, for some reason? Can we not then see?

I would like to say that there are different ways of seeing, and that those who cannot see with their eyes may actually see things much more clearly than those who can see with their eyes. Darkness gives a new dimension to light. It is possible to see even in the darkness. The darkness can be a treasure house. Yet most people would choose light over darkness.

What can we see in the darkness? I would say that we can see more purely in the darkness, because all the peripheral things do not get in the way. We focus and there is nothing to take away the light that we are seeing. The pure, unadulterated light.

I would be interested to know what you think about this. As many of you know, I am blind. Though I could see once, and so go on memory. Those who are born blind cannot even go on memory, but have to formulate some way of seeing despite that.

I wonder what your thoughts are on this?


Judgements may come but beware
The boxes your head might declare
In defining another you box yourself in
Thinking that you are the one to win

Who is to say what’s right and what’s fair
Of truth so many may have a share
Beware clanging words just making a din
Judgements may come

Defining another with hardly a care
Is really a damaging painful affair
No one can live in another’s skin
Or say what may be that person’s sin
Human fragility lays a soul bare
Judgements may come


I have not been too actve on WordPress over the last days. I have been thinkng a lot, however. Many of my thoughts were precipitated by the death of my Aunt, which I wrote about the other day.

I discovered that it was possible to “watch” her funeral via webcam. Not many people attended due to Covid, but it was a beautiful funeral, and it brought back many memories for me, especially memories of when I actually had a family. I have no family now. The funeral was therefore very moving and emotional, and knocked me off balance for a while.

I decided, the other day, to write much more extensively about my blindness. This resulted from my feeling that I was being compared with other blind people, perhaps unfavourably. It was just something that someone said. This led me to delve a bit on the internet, to find out how other people dealt with blindness. It was very interesting.

I discovered, however, that there are not many blind people with no sense of touch, which is vital, andbnot manyvwho have those two things combined with being in a wheelchair. But I did glean some very interesting information.

As a result of all this, combined with my own search for ways of becoming more independent, I found myself wanting to write more and more about it.

So, that is what I have been doing.

I hope to get back to m ore blogging however. So, see you around, I hope.


I have posted the following poem before, but yesterday I heard that my Aunt had died aged 81 and that she has been buried with her husband, John. John was my mother’s brother, and when he was a child at the farm, he saw a beautiful lady all dressed in pink who appeared at his bedside. I was reminded of this poem that I wrote some time ago and have posted before but just wanted to post t again in his memory.
A beautiful lady all dressed in pink
Stood at the bedside beside
a small chid
Nobody ever knew quite what to think
The story the child told sounded so wild
Nobody else saw this beautiful sight
But the child insisted the sight was real
She came to his bedside during the night
Nothing but peace did the little boy feel
As time passed by it was all forgotten
The child grew up, and got on with his life
The farmhouse was knocked down he was smitten
With grief so deep that cut like a knife
He never forgot that vision so fine
An old man spoke as we watched his eyes shine


I hear today of Easter walks
Bunnies and chocolate
I hear of light and joy
And the seeming impossible
A mixture of the incongruous
And I find my head
For once did jangle money
And so it does today
Not much has changed
And there isn’t much change
Money speaks they say
And oh how true that seems
But today
I listen
To the still small voice deep within
That charges nothing
That costs nothing
But that is free
And brings freedom


Hubby’s bites were insect bites from Black Bank! He has made the whole house smell of TCP and one of them went funny (not ha ha) but they are getting better now. Dare we go back again? Well, we are promised sleet and snow for Easter Monday so we had better get our sledges out. We have strange weather n our country!


With me lost worlds
That still speak through the gloom
Nature in all its wonder, clangs,
What is it saying now to me?
That the sun still shines bright
Warming my skin
Birds call

Do you
Hear nature call?
It says so much to me
But I am learning its language
Join me
In this
World of sound, the wind blowing, brooks
Singing for joy by day
Let us know joy
In sound


On this dark day a cry was heard
“why have you forsaken me?”
As earth and heaven split in two
And caverns opened up
The whole earth shook I trembled too
As suddenly all went black
I could not see my hand nor way
I fell upon the ground
But on the ground I heard that cry
Knew I was not alone
My God had not forsaken me
He too had known this dark
But on that day so long ago
“it is finished” were his words
His task accomplished he was gone
A new day then began
Every end has a new beginning
The light cannot be quenched
Stumbling I looked up to heaven
And knew I’d live again


At this moment the house stinks of TCP! I wondered what jt was at first but hubby informed me that he got well and truly bitten at Black Bank the other night! That, or the dog has got fleas!

Well, the dog shouldn’t have fleas reallt as she gets near no other dogs, but we couldn’t get tobthe vets to pick up her normal fleavtablets as the queue for vaccinations stretched from the doctors surgery next door right into the vets car parkl.. so we gave up on it. Instead, hubby has ordered some Frontline from Amazonnwhich is what the vets always used to use before they started using tablets.

I guess you can blame me really, for writing all those flea poems! I think they might be getting tgeir own back! The dog does not seem to be scratching though! It’s only hubby,

We have been thinking of trying to move house, to get something more suitable for two wheelchairs, and to be all on one level. However everywhere is too expensive for us, so we are thinking about what else we can do. Whilst looking for a bungalow we, or at least hubby, saw some bungalows that were completely open plan which meant that there were no problems with doors and so wheelchairs would not be a problem. Now, we are considering the possibility of making our house open plan downstairs at least. Not sure that I fancy the rave but I guess we have to do something. We have at last secured a decent cleaner to replace my sister who used to clean for us before the pandemic. Until now we have been too scared to have anyone in the house but now we have decided that we must. It will actually be nice to see another human being and I guess most people are absolutely fed up with this pandemic and being cut off from family and friends. Hopefully this summer things will die down completely and also hopefully we will not have a third wave. It is hard to imagine anything like this and who would’ve thought but our world would’ve ended up like this? I sometimes think we will never be the same again and I think others have said that too.

Despite the bites I am hoping to return to Black Bank taking my American Indian flutes with me and I am hoping to make a joyful or otherwise noise with them LOL