I have lived through Andrew and its aftermath. We didn't have flooding but we lost power for over 3 weeks, and had limited food and water.. Roads were impassable and we were completely cut off, no phone, no tv, no communication at all. What I wanted, at the time, was the power to come back on, I wanted food, and I wanted water and I so wanted to be able to talk to my family. But I was lucky, I was in my own home.
Those in New Orleans are going through sheer and utter hell on earth. Not just the trauma of losing one's home, one's community but also even mankind's basic needs are in jeopardy. Food, water and shelter - shelter that is dry, food that is fresh and water that is drinkable. In a first world country, that is unthinkable which is why the majority of us are so shocked.
Please do what you can and donate here...
But what, Minerva, has this got to do with your title?
Well, here you are.. Bush is coming back from his holiday a full 2 DAYS early to help command the relief effort. Well, whoopy, dooby, do... I am sure that is thrilling both the Governers of Louisiana and Mississippi and the Mayor who have been amazing in their communication and obvious dedication to their citizens.
So Bush is coming back and guess what? He is going to tour the most stricken areas on Friday. I am sure that this has nothing to do with sinking ratings due to what is going on in Iraq but here is a personal message for you George W. STAY AWAY! Yes, that is right..stay away..
Think about it folks, who would you vote for? Someone who comes in and tours the area and then will talk more about it and tell everyone how awful it is? Or someone who shows some sensitivity to the actual gravity of the situation and rather than using up resources guarding, transporting, flying him etc will just release the money, the resources and the effort for those people who can actually help on the ground. If I was president, I would be saying that if people can't return to their only home on this planet, then what right do I have to enter their city as a tourist?
Stay in Washington, George, and do everything YOU can to expediate the aid effort...
Minerva
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
Monday, August 29, 2005
Evacuation...
That word brings back memories. In 1992, I was living in Miami, in the centre of Coconut Grove, newly married and very happy. I was also excited as my first hurricane, my first proper hurricane was heading towards us and I had always loved big storms even as a child. I grew up in Asia, so I did have some idea, but not enough...
That day was hot and not a breath of air moved in Miami. The summers were stinkingly humid and that day was no exception. When we, uncivilised Britons, went across the street to seek guidance from our neighbours we were given a shopping list of tape for the windows, plywood for the doors and canned goods in case we were out of power and supplies for a while. We headed out but the lumber stores had lines to the back, the local grocery store's car park was packed out and the little stores local to us had put their 'closed' signs up as they too were preparing their families for what was to come. At about lunchtime, we got a call from friends on Key Biscayne who were being evacuated and we agreed that the wife, the husband, their toddler and their dog would all come over and we would ride it out together. Even at this stage we had no idea what was to happen to us all....
The wind started at around 5pm and night fell quickly, very quickly. The rain began and as it rained, the wind grew stronger and stronger... I remember peering outside and seeing the palm trees outside our house almost bent double and a sound, a sound so eerie that I will never forget it, a sound like a very loud creak, a slow but deafening creak and then a crash.. We didn't know then but the huge 5ft circumference acacia just to the right of our house had fallen smack in front of our garage.. As we had no windows at the front of our house, we didn't see it until the morning..
After that, the noises were louder and louder... Alarms set off on cars and houses, clunks and clangs of metal banging along the roads, thuds of branches, wood and plastic as they hit our house or our cars, and over all of this, the urgent keening, wailing and shrieking of the wind.
We all took to the upstairs hall which was the only room in our new house which didn't have any windows. There were 6 of us in all including dog cramped into a tiny space and as we listened to the radio, it was like being in a horror story, except we weren't reading this...this was real.
First, emergency services were called off the streets. We realised, at that point, that we were utterly alone, that if something awful happened, the option of calling for help wasn't one, that we were, for the first time, and only time in my life, in one of the most modern cities in the world, helpless, completely helpless, no doctor, no ambulance, no police... And then the stories...
I can still hear her voice.. A woman who called into the radio station crying for help. She was sheltering in her bathroom with her three children as the door of her house had been blown in as had the windows. She had retreated to her tiny bathroom with them and we could hear on the radio as she told us of how the windows in her bathroom were bulging with the wind's pressure. The radio station was suddenly left with a dial tone..and we were left with the horrors of our imagination.
Since then, I have never felt concrete shake. I have never been so awed by our planet's majesty and power, and I have never felt completely at ease with the name Andrew.
New Orleans, my thoughts are with you tonight...
Minerva
That day was hot and not a breath of air moved in Miami. The summers were stinkingly humid and that day was no exception. When we, uncivilised Britons, went across the street to seek guidance from our neighbours we were given a shopping list of tape for the windows, plywood for the doors and canned goods in case we were out of power and supplies for a while. We headed out but the lumber stores had lines to the back, the local grocery store's car park was packed out and the little stores local to us had put their 'closed' signs up as they too were preparing their families for what was to come. At about lunchtime, we got a call from friends on Key Biscayne who were being evacuated and we agreed that the wife, the husband, their toddler and their dog would all come over and we would ride it out together. Even at this stage we had no idea what was to happen to us all....
The wind started at around 5pm and night fell quickly, very quickly. The rain began and as it rained, the wind grew stronger and stronger... I remember peering outside and seeing the palm trees outside our house almost bent double and a sound, a sound so eerie that I will never forget it, a sound like a very loud creak, a slow but deafening creak and then a crash.. We didn't know then but the huge 5ft circumference acacia just to the right of our house had fallen smack in front of our garage.. As we had no windows at the front of our house, we didn't see it until the morning..
After that, the noises were louder and louder... Alarms set off on cars and houses, clunks and clangs of metal banging along the roads, thuds of branches, wood and plastic as they hit our house or our cars, and over all of this, the urgent keening, wailing and shrieking of the wind.
We all took to the upstairs hall which was the only room in our new house which didn't have any windows. There were 6 of us in all including dog cramped into a tiny space and as we listened to the radio, it was like being in a horror story, except we weren't reading this...this was real.
First, emergency services were called off the streets. We realised, at that point, that we were utterly alone, that if something awful happened, the option of calling for help wasn't one, that we were, for the first time, and only time in my life, in one of the most modern cities in the world, helpless, completely helpless, no doctor, no ambulance, no police... And then the stories...
I can still hear her voice.. A woman who called into the radio station crying for help. She was sheltering in her bathroom with her three children as the door of her house had been blown in as had the windows. She had retreated to her tiny bathroom with them and we could hear on the radio as she told us of how the windows in her bathroom were bulging with the wind's pressure. The radio station was suddenly left with a dial tone..and we were left with the horrors of our imagination.
Since then, I have never felt concrete shake. I have never been so awed by our planet's majesty and power, and I have never felt completely at ease with the name Andrew.
New Orleans, my thoughts are with you tonight...
Minerva
Saturday, August 27, 2005
At last - the TRUTH
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the truth is out. Men are at least 5 percentage points better than women particularly on the higher echelons of IQ tests. Finally, I can relax! Why? Because, now I don't even need to prove myself...If this is the case, I am a good for nothing woman that really needs to stay at home and relax in bed, watching daytime tv and eating chocolate confident that I am incapable of contributing to the economy of the world at large. Meanwhile, my god-like man (that, incidentally, I am still looking for) will be getting the children up, holding a screaming baby under one arm whilst warming a bottle in the microwave, washing the dishes, pouring out the cereal for the older children and talking to a salesman for double glazing on the phone all at the SAME time as well as getting himself ready for work and out the door. This is fantastic....
The reality, of course, as any hard pressed parent knows is that one poor sucker gets up and feeds children, looks for lost homework book that child forgot to present for signing the previous evening, pours out cereal into bowls whilst heating up baby's bottle as well as supervising the division of packed lunches. The bottle, naturally, overheats which means that it has to be cooling down in a mug of cold water with 5 second checks to see if it is by any chance cool enough not to burn baby's mouth off necessitating ANOTHER trip to the emergency room this week. And, then, of course, the inevitable cry from the bathroom upstairs, " Darling have you seen my.......?" Naturally, at this point, time stops. Imagine a kitchen frozen, baby's mouth open, kids mouths open, fridge open, microwave open as overworked dogsbody seeks desperately in her 5 IQ point less mind where the offending article, normally, a pen, or razor could have got to....
No wonder we don't get the points! We are still worrying about the milk and whether the diary was signed and whether we blunted the razor when we borrowed it....
Seriously though, before I get my DNA in a twist, these tests measure spatial awareness amongst other things. Now every woman knows that as far as visual awareness is concerned, men are way ahead of women. For every fight between a loving couple about light on/light off, it is the man who wants it on, the man who needs the extra visual stimulation whereas we are quite capable of shutting our eyes and imagining that anyone we particularly like is there with us. In fact, in many cases, this is definitely a bonus and yet, do we see 'able to imagine Brad Pitt' as a category on IQ tests?
Time, I think, for a male and female IQ test measuring what we are each best at rather than putting females through a male designed IQ test which is why we are coming out 5 points less. Time for individual tests not promoting sexism, but rather recognising how special and different masculinity and femininity, men and woman are. So what questions would you like to see on a male/female IQ test? And yes, I am asking for blatently sexist material, just in case you were wondering!
Female
1. How many tasks is it possible to do at the same time? (not including breathing/talking)
Male
1. How many tasks is it possible to do at the same time? (including breathing/talking)
Oh, and please...feel free to answer them too!
*smiling*
Minerva
The reality, of course, as any hard pressed parent knows is that one poor sucker gets up and feeds children, looks for lost homework book that child forgot to present for signing the previous evening, pours out cereal into bowls whilst heating up baby's bottle as well as supervising the division of packed lunches. The bottle, naturally, overheats which means that it has to be cooling down in a mug of cold water with 5 second checks to see if it is by any chance cool enough not to burn baby's mouth off necessitating ANOTHER trip to the emergency room this week. And, then, of course, the inevitable cry from the bathroom upstairs, " Darling have you seen my.......?" Naturally, at this point, time stops. Imagine a kitchen frozen, baby's mouth open, kids mouths open, fridge open, microwave open as overworked dogsbody seeks desperately in her 5 IQ point less mind where the offending article, normally, a pen, or razor could have got to....
No wonder we don't get the points! We are still worrying about the milk and whether the diary was signed and whether we blunted the razor when we borrowed it....
Seriously though, before I get my DNA in a twist, these tests measure spatial awareness amongst other things. Now every woman knows that as far as visual awareness is concerned, men are way ahead of women. For every fight between a loving couple about light on/light off, it is the man who wants it on, the man who needs the extra visual stimulation whereas we are quite capable of shutting our eyes and imagining that anyone we particularly like is there with us. In fact, in many cases, this is definitely a bonus and yet, do we see 'able to imagine Brad Pitt' as a category on IQ tests?
Time, I think, for a male and female IQ test measuring what we are each best at rather than putting females through a male designed IQ test which is why we are coming out 5 points less. Time for individual tests not promoting sexism, but rather recognising how special and different masculinity and femininity, men and woman are. So what questions would you like to see on a male/female IQ test? And yes, I am asking for blatently sexist material, just in case you were wondering!
Female
1. How many tasks is it possible to do at the same time? (not including breathing/talking)
Male
1. How many tasks is it possible to do at the same time? (including breathing/talking)
Oh, and please...feel free to answer them too!
*smiling*
Minerva
Friday, August 26, 2005
Tooth Fairy
In England, when a child loses a tooth, it is put under their pillow with promises of a visit from the tooth fairy who steals into the bedroom at night and takes the tooth and leaves a small amount of money in return...
2 pound coin clutched in my hand,
Terrified of making a noise,
I curve around the door
like the light outside your room.
Inside, even breathing, odd limbs stuck out of sheets,
hair spread across pillows.
Soft toys cuddled by innocence.
Padding to the table, I see the offering.
A tiny tooth, just blooded,
missing the damp warmth of its home,
redundant, retired.
Already, the signs are up - Vacancy!
screams the gap in her smile.
A swift bargain is made -
one tooth, enamel, root, speck of precious blood
exchanged for hammered copper and nickel.
One priceless, the other valued.
Where have we gone wrong?
Minerva
2 pound coin clutched in my hand,
Terrified of making a noise,
I curve around the door
like the light outside your room.
Inside, even breathing, odd limbs stuck out of sheets,
hair spread across pillows.
Soft toys cuddled by innocence.
Padding to the table, I see the offering.
A tiny tooth, just blooded,
missing the damp warmth of its home,
redundant, retired.
Already, the signs are up - Vacancy!
screams the gap in her smile.
A swift bargain is made -
one tooth, enamel, root, speck of precious blood
exchanged for hammered copper and nickel.
One priceless, the other valued.
Where have we gone wrong?
Minerva
Thursday, August 25, 2005
The sun is out again
and with it, my mood soars. A caring phone call this morning, (thanks EM) and a second appointment is booked. I have also spoken to a couple of Cancer advisors who have all helped allay my fears with knowledge. Why don't doctors just share their knowledge with us? Why do some just feel that they are the experts and that their patients really aren't capable of assimilating it?
I have learnt so much from my calls this morning, all incidentally pointing towards the extreme unlikelihood of my lump being cancer that I feel quite revitalised and able to move on...
At last! Sitting around in self-indulgent misery really doesn't suit me at all.
Thank you all of you who have given me such support, and who have metaphorically got angry for me. I really appreciate it....
Now let's get on with living...
Minerva
I have learnt so much from my calls this morning, all incidentally pointing towards the extreme unlikelihood of my lump being cancer that I feel quite revitalised and able to move on...
At last! Sitting around in self-indulgent misery really doesn't suit me at all.
Thank you all of you who have given me such support, and who have metaphorically got angry for me. I really appreciate it....
Now let's get on with living...
Minerva
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
London drizzles
with rain... Light rain spatters against the window panes, sliding their way down the glass to the soaked earth below. It falls and falls, monotonously and silently. It is hard to believe that it is August. No trace of sun in London now, only grey clouds, and dark skies.
I went to the doctor and there is no news. He does not think, and I accentuate the word 'think' it is cancer, so I should be celebrating, but I feel devoid of all emotion, to be honest. The baby shark is still there at the back of my brain saying, 'what if....' and I don't have any replies. The doctor says I must wait for a month to see if there are any changes. I feel nothing, I want to see no one, I have spoken to no one, merely sit and stare at the screen of the television or my computer, seeing but actually deep within myself.
Not depressed though. I realise that I am resting, I am gathering my reserves for whatever may come at me in the next month or so when I start work again. I do not feel lonely, I do not feel alone. Merely recharging and flowing back into the London that I know having been on holiday, flowing like a little tributary into its mother river.
London, I am back.
Minerva
I went to the doctor and there is no news. He does not think, and I accentuate the word 'think' it is cancer, so I should be celebrating, but I feel devoid of all emotion, to be honest. The baby shark is still there at the back of my brain saying, 'what if....' and I don't have any replies. The doctor says I must wait for a month to see if there are any changes. I feel nothing, I want to see no one, I have spoken to no one, merely sit and stare at the screen of the television or my computer, seeing but actually deep within myself.
Not depressed though. I realise that I am resting, I am gathering my reserves for whatever may come at me in the next month or so when I start work again. I do not feel lonely, I do not feel alone. Merely recharging and flowing back into the London that I know having been on holiday, flowing like a little tributary into its mother river.
London, I am back.
Minerva
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Ugly words...
are ruling my life at the moment. The word 'lump' has choked my throat all day. It sits there, humped and squat in my mouth, flexing its consonant blends. It's like a mound of dried chewing gum, hard, inflexible and immoveable.
Gutteral, visceral words. Words that scrape, that raise an edge in the reader. I feel the hairs on my arms start to rise just reading them. Like the taste of gristle suddenly in one's mouth, I choke and try to spit them out. Armed words, words with knives and blades that whirl from dark corners when I am out walking my sentences. Words that swarm out of the darkness, that tighten my tongue, that constrain my throat and screw their hard edged sounds into my brain like an alarm. They spin around the empty maze of my brain, they drill into my skull, and they solidify, coalesce like hard, black slate to leave a metallic taste in my mouth.
Minerva
Gutteral, visceral words. Words that scrape, that raise an edge in the reader. I feel the hairs on my arms start to rise just reading them. Like the taste of gristle suddenly in one's mouth, I choke and try to spit them out. Armed words, words with knives and blades that whirl from dark corners when I am out walking my sentences. Words that swarm out of the darkness, that tighten my tongue, that constrain my throat and screw their hard edged sounds into my brain like an alarm. They spin around the empty maze of my brain, they drill into my skull, and they solidify, coalesce like hard, black slate to leave a metallic taste in my mouth.
Minerva
Monday, August 22, 2005
Lumps and Damien Hirst
I have a lump where I shouldn't. I have a big lump where I shouldn't; a big, walnut sized lump. It is hard, immoveable and it shouldn't be there. Naturally, it is preying on my mind, and I mean preying. Like a shark, it swims malignantly (pun intended) at the back of my brain. It doesn't matter what I am doing, what I am reading, typing or thinking, it is there, smiling at me, reminding me of my mortality, of my fragility, of the fact that I am 38, that I have smoked for twenty years and that death, whilst not expected at my age does happen. I am surprised that it is so hard. I have had lumps before; I think most women have and these have been small. Something to be concerned about certainly, but walnut-sized?
My mind, naturally, leaps ahead. I imagine the knife twisting into my flesh, and a scoop, like a ladle taking it out. I brush my side again with my arm and am reminded yet again. There it sits, fat and ugly, squatting hungrily in its corner, grinning savagely every time it looks at me. If a lump could lick its lips, this one would. If a lump could drool, this one would be dribbling rivers of saliva down its chin. If a lump, a fat, squalid, inanimate lump could rub its hands with glee at the thought of its host's ultimate mortality, this one would.
But then the idea of mortality is all around me at the moment. Tomorrow is my father's birthday. He died at the age of 60 of lung cancer and having just stopped smoking in my case, it seems cruel irony to be visiting the doctor tomorrow. Sharks are good metaphors for cancer, I think. They both scare the imagination as much as the body, they both prey on fear, and they both linger just outside our conscious realm, ready to surface when we feel threatened, open their great jaws and remind us that we are only barely alive.
Damien definitely had a point.
Minerva
My mind, naturally, leaps ahead. I imagine the knife twisting into my flesh, and a scoop, like a ladle taking it out. I brush my side again with my arm and am reminded yet again. There it sits, fat and ugly, squatting hungrily in its corner, grinning savagely every time it looks at me. If a lump could lick its lips, this one would. If a lump could drool, this one would be dribbling rivers of saliva down its chin. If a lump, a fat, squalid, inanimate lump could rub its hands with glee at the thought of its host's ultimate mortality, this one would.
But then the idea of mortality is all around me at the moment. Tomorrow is my father's birthday. He died at the age of 60 of lung cancer and having just stopped smoking in my case, it seems cruel irony to be visiting the doctor tomorrow. Sharks are good metaphors for cancer, I think. They both scare the imagination as much as the body, they both prey on fear, and they both linger just outside our conscious realm, ready to surface when we feel threatened, open their great jaws and remind us that we are only barely alive.
Damien definitely had a point.
Minerva
Sunday, August 21, 2005
Back to reality...
A wonderful holiday full of sunshine, laughter and drunken lunches. I did indeed give up smoking and it is only now, in my study at home that it is hard to do. Strange that..
Second, my darling children are now with their father. A quick turnaround on Saturday of piles of washing and a jaunt down the motorway to drop them off. They were cheerful and happy which I was pleased about but part of me still wanted them to scream that they were leaving me... Just human after all. *sigh*
Blog Advance
Third, my blog has received its first review which wasn't glowing but made some good points. I was a little upset to find out that he has put me in the mediocre band but I'm there in good company - (Brad, are you out there?)
*grinning*
Fourth, and final, I have completed the first chapter of the book. Sadly, I also started the second but it didn't work so I am starting that again. This is quite an undertaking I think *sigh*
and I do wonder if I have either the courage or the stamina for it but maybe that is just today..
Now I have two weeks before work begins again. Two weeks which lie before me like a plump, new washed duvet with no appointments, no obligations to spoil it. I plan on luxuriating for five minutes at least before putting on my novelist hat....
To you all, thank you for your comments and your good wishes. It means a lot to me...
Minerva
Second, my darling children are now with their father. A quick turnaround on Saturday of piles of washing and a jaunt down the motorway to drop them off. They were cheerful and happy which I was pleased about but part of me still wanted them to scream that they were leaving me... Just human after all. *sigh*
Blog Advance
Third, my blog has received its first review which wasn't glowing but made some good points. I was a little upset to find out that he has put me in the mediocre band but I'm there in good company - (Brad, are you out there?)
*grinning*
Fourth, and final, I have completed the first chapter of the book. Sadly, I also started the second but it didn't work so I am starting that again. This is quite an undertaking I think *sigh*
and I do wonder if I have either the courage or the stamina for it but maybe that is just today..
Now I have two weeks before work begins again. Two weeks which lie before me like a plump, new washed duvet with no appointments, no obligations to spoil it. I plan on luxuriating for five minutes at least before putting on my novelist hat....
To you all, thank you for your comments and your good wishes. It means a lot to me...
Minerva
Saturday, August 20, 2005
Night
has crept in on silent paws like a cat
stolen into the room, curled around the curtains
and pooled in the corners.
Soft lips against my face,
your toothpaste-laden breath against my cheek
whispers of giggle-laden days and nightmares
cuddled away by my enfolded arms.
I love this time; a time to dust clean the day's blackboard,
to erase the marks, a chance to emotionally recharge your heat
and make sure you know, that you always know that your mother loves you.
And you will never know how precious is that daily gift
of arms and face freely given.
I am so lucky.
Minerva
stolen into the room, curled around the curtains
and pooled in the corners.
Soft lips against my face,
your toothpaste-laden breath against my cheek
whispers of giggle-laden days and nightmares
cuddled away by my enfolded arms.
I love this time; a time to dust clean the day's blackboard,
to erase the marks, a chance to emotionally recharge your heat
and make sure you know, that you always know that your mother loves you.
And you will never know how precious is that daily gift
of arms and face freely given.
I am so lucky.
Minerva
Friday, August 05, 2005
Tomorrow
I start three journeys which will all, I hope, restore this tired body, heart and soul to happiness and health. The first is a journey of the body, to Espana, to bask this tired skin in a Basque sun. My body too shall be recovering from the ravages of smoking. I stop tomorrow. Lousy timing, in view of what happened yesterday, lack of a fellow picnicer and all, but I have set this date for a long time and after all, there is, for an addict, any excuse to continue.
The second journey will indulge this weary mind in novels and journeys galore. I shall be climbing the hills of South America with Isabel Allende, exploring the monotony of the modern world with Ian McEwan, and, of course, be deep in the cavernous halls of Hogwarts with Harry, Hermione and Ron. I shall roll like a hippopotamus in poetry and bathe in the harmonious syntax of Margaret Atwood.
The last, and probably the most important is my heart. This woman of passion needs a rest too. I have only been single for a total of two weeks since my divorce three years ago and I feel that it is time for a period of introspection, reflection and contemplation. I need to be alone, to realise what self reliance feels like and to look at what I want, both in relationships and out of it. Time for me, my heart, my body and my mind.
I shall, of course, take the trusty notebook on holiday, and will treat you with some of my offerings when I return.
Take care. To all who are doing the Blogathon tomorrow best of luck.
See you in two weeks...
Minerva
The second journey will indulge this weary mind in novels and journeys galore. I shall be climbing the hills of South America with Isabel Allende, exploring the monotony of the modern world with Ian McEwan, and, of course, be deep in the cavernous halls of Hogwarts with Harry, Hermione and Ron. I shall roll like a hippopotamus in poetry and bathe in the harmonious syntax of Margaret Atwood.
The last, and probably the most important is my heart. This woman of passion needs a rest too. I have only been single for a total of two weeks since my divorce three years ago and I feel that it is time for a period of introspection, reflection and contemplation. I need to be alone, to realise what self reliance feels like and to look at what I want, both in relationships and out of it. Time for me, my heart, my body and my mind.
I shall, of course, take the trusty notebook on holiday, and will treat you with some of my offerings when I return.
Take care. To all who are doing the Blogathon tomorrow best of luck.
See you in two weeks...
Minerva
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Love is like a picnic...
and now, it is over. Back in my wicker basket, go the plates and glasses for two. Stained with wine, they tell of laughter, of hands held, of glances exchanged. The bottle, empty, returns to be filled with fresh dreams, new ambitions and untold secrets, only to be uncorked again when the time is right. My baskets, scattered with crumbs of love and affection pile up in darkness gathering new strength from the solid wicker, grown in rivers, dried by calloused hands and twisted through painful contortions into something beautiful, something to be appreciated by the right person, to be loved, caressed and brought out as an object of beauty under sunny skies, with high skimpy clouds to be unfurled again.
I will picnic again, but not for a while.
Minerva
I will picnic again, but not for a while.
Minerva
Wednesday, August 03, 2005
If you love me....
don't give me roses,
give me the last hug of a child at night,
the first flight of a cocoon freed butterfly,
the rippling sail of a bucking catamaran,
the warmth of a new laid egg in my hand,
the comforting flare of a lighthouse over the rocks,
the wind-blown burn of a day on the beach,
the snuffle of a wet dog's nose on my leg,
the whispers of excitement in a dark cinema,
the jerky first steps of a foal of two hours,
the twitching nose of a russet brown mouse,
the dew sopping blades of grass at dawn,
and the final glow of the sun at night.
Minerva
give me the last hug of a child at night,
the first flight of a cocoon freed butterfly,
the rippling sail of a bucking catamaran,
the warmth of a new laid egg in my hand,
the comforting flare of a lighthouse over the rocks,
the wind-blown burn of a day on the beach,
the snuffle of a wet dog's nose on my leg,
the whispers of excitement in a dark cinema,
the jerky first steps of a foal of two hours,
the twitching nose of a russet brown mouse,
the dew sopping blades of grass at dawn,
and the final glow of the sun at night.
Minerva
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)