The air around me is
warm and sweet.
I follow the footpaths
through patchwork fields,
climbing the gently rolling hills.
My dress sways with every step
and twirls with every turn.
My floppy straw hat carefully
sits on my head giving
a speckled shade across my face.
I no longer have to think about
the burdens that push me down,
restricting my every move.
This is freedom.
This is the liberty
that all should strive to have.
This is what life is.
I don't see magic
when I breath perfectly in time
with my surroundings.
when I feel what they feel.
When I feel so whole and complete.
I see something else.
If you pinpoint that something
it is within us all,
most don't recognise it
try to stamp it out
but it is always there.
I savoured these moments
for I knew that all too soon
I would have to go back.
I would have to go back
to the place which made it so hard
to find the joy and compassion
in all those around me.
I will always remember walking alone,
with a spring in my step,
with bird song and the sound
of life to accompany me,
walking on paths that
those had done centuries before me.
In the dappled shade
of the blooming hedgerows.
My Aunt and Uncle were blissfully unaware
of the extremity what happened at school.
I think they knew something
was wrong but thankfully
they never directly breached the topic.
My Aunt and Uncle always
walked up the road together.
At the end of the long road
she turned left to the doctors
where she worked as a nurse
and he turned right.
They met at the same place
by the shop as his shift finished
ten minutes later than hers.
They used to pick me up
from school together
and we walked hand in hand along the road.
I saw my them coming out of the shop with bread in their hands
as I crossed the style.
Waving I crossed the road
and joined them.
We walked in a blissful silence
as if savouring the moment.
Hoping that time will stop and leave
Us on a warm afternoon
in in late summer with the sun
only just starting to tire, surrounded
by rich and intense green
and the smell of blooming honeysuckle with the sounds of life around us
whilst we were there- together.
We were there.
Walking through the graveyard
on the Sunday morning
before I went back we were quiet compared to those around us.
We were reflecting on the words that had just previously been said
" Have a wonderful time
at your school.
Remember that we are always here- you are never alone
if you look hard enough.
If you look hard enough there
will be someone showing you
love and compassion, showing you
the light in the darkness.
Time flies doesn't it?
I still remember you as a little girl tottering in flower beds,
you were always happy and grateful- you still are but never loose it.
I will see you at Christmas.
If you could spare the time write
to us as well, we'd all love
to know how you are.
Remember to always look for the light Cordelia."
When at home my aunt
cut my hair. She had a knack
with hair and is easily better
at mine than any others.
We sat by the kitchen sink whist he sat near the open french doors
listening to the radio. I could hear the low hum of the radio
and the sound of the scissors
cutting through my hair. Looking
in the mirror my hair was shorter,
still wavy and a few inches above the shoulder.
"You should better start packing."
She said, smiling at her work.
" Fold them properly dear. The cake
is in the hall and pack your
cats stuff too."
Once in my room I dragged
my trunk out from the side
of my wardrobe after I opened
the doors with an exaggerated
tug leaving them swinging.
Slowly and carefully I packed,
writing the objects down on a list
whilst listening to jazz on the radio, singing and swinging along , tapping
My foot to the underlying beat.
We ate dinner outside.
Watching the sky turn pink and orange
as the sun disappeared behind the hills before the sea.
We cut open the Crumble
as the bees were still buzzing
from flower to flower, gathering around the lavender in particular, closely observed by my kitten.
My aunt and uncle were content
whilst butterflies fluttered around
the flowers on the table and the
birds finished their song.
It was at moments like this
that made me grateful that
I
was
not
my
parents.