Tea, Tales, Tides and Tidings...

All images from flickr

Oh it’s been too long since I last wrote here… I’ve been writing so many other things, days of writing, books of pages, I always have blue ink and bruises on my hands; little dents that mark where the pen sits. I’m not long back from Donegal; I spent my hours writing by daylight with steaming cups of tea and nights beside that peat fire, which smells so much like home, trying to conjure those tales in words and rhythm. It rained every night I was there, that deep, aching rain I feel in my toes. That fickle ocean was there of course, a constant wash of tides that have touched a thousand other shores and that tiding of magpies are still roosting beside the house; so many the old rhyme doesn’t count high enough, if they bring good luck or ill only time will tell…

Spring is finally stirring and I find my mind not on those dark tales of transformation, snow, apples, blood and ice, but on The Weather Watcher, I tucked her story away for a stormy sunny day…but she’ll have to wait a few months more, brew a little longer, as I’m rapidly running out of time on this Masters course. The tales, all thirteen are drawing together, all deep darks, reds and whites; those wild geese are dressed in the green of this land, Briar Rose is leaving princes bloody and heart sick in her wake, Gretel is alone but no longer wandering, she’s tending that oven… Red is in bed with the Wolf, Snow White has turned temptress just like her mother, those bones are wrapped up in silk, the spell cast, Beauty and the Beast are nightly making their neighbours jealous, Bluebeard is still keeping count, the bread is baked, those charms pinned in, and don’t you know the little man’s name? And me; I’ve put on my red shoes, I have needles and threads in my pockets and a pen in my hand, I’m tracing those maps deep into the woods but I know the way, I’m stronger than the Snow White they all take me for and I’ve plenty more tales to tell.

Today was blue and thin spring light, as cold as winter but not as true. Today I love books; words and gateways… I love tea and truth and those white sheets. I love tulips in a shock of red. I love kindness and patience and as always I loathe cowardice and words unsaid. Today the woman I want to be laughs like the early morning, she is beauty and grace and she sleeps sound. She never has to guess or doubt and kindness doesn’t make her stall… someday.