Shell Shock

Impact

Words like boulders dead on the ground,  ponderous shelters for creature crawlies that shun the light of day.  If I break them down perhaps I will find a crystalised truth at the centre of my life. Standing outside myself flogging heavy horses, who refuse to pull the plough,  they languish there, as the drone of flies fills the wasteland that is my field of dreams.  Walking the circulumbering path again, nothing new to report.  The seaweed waits, cold and slippery, a promise of plenty to slugs and crows. The hyacynth made a good attempt to herald hope, but wilted before its scent could induce migraine.  Interrupted life. Now there is a pebble in my shoe, it fits right in the fold between my big toe and the ball of my foot. I have learned to walk this way. Occasionaly, I take it out to have a look. I remember a child who lived outside the eggshell wondering what was going on inside.  Ignoring intuitive warnings as she breached the seal and peered in. So many chickens that never hatch.  Stillborn.

Mortal

I am not the me you met yesterday. This time I did not beat the odds. The righteous hand that takes, I had known was aimed at me.  It was only a matter of time before it descended from the sky to knock me down. 

Now I can be counted among the billions, no longer the omnipotent being of my own mythology. I am mortal, a little less safe, a lot more heart in my head.

Timidly planning for tomorrows uncertain unknown.  Never knowing what axe may drop between this moment and the next, or what boulder may fall from the sky to crush all that is familiar, changing the landscape forever so that I must tread a new path.

Yet, things move as they should, with dinner on time, dishes washed and leaf mould gathered for the garden that is my anchor to the present.