October’s Spell

It started in October.
Everything you did, said, implied,
Engraved on your face,
Got under my skin, my nails;
Your laid-back attitude,
That kept me calm, centered
Now aroused anger,
It went from complacency to
Laziness in my head
As the days passed.
By the middle of the month
I imagined myself booting you off
That damn Coricraft corner unit
With the two sets of removable covers
On which your outline had an imprint
And very soon,
On that same couch, with the olive
Set on, sitting side by side,
I said, “I am done.”
And your face revealed
You were done too.
And now when I read the news,
See how many celebrity couples
Are done
In October;
I think to myself
If only they held on for two
More months,
In January,
Things will be different,
(and that forsaken couch
will be clean)
Things always look more hopeful;

Copyright Hiraeth 2016


Gardening (with God)

I think God romances me in my garden. And before you think I have entirely lost the plot, let me explain. In the last two years I have grown green fingers. I find myself completely peaceful scrounging in the dirt, planting new life and my favourite: creating new plants from existing ones. I spend time there every day, even on the rainy, duvet days. My soul is peaceful most days and on the days there is frustration, anger, I find enormous release in pruning, sometimes going completely overboard and ending with a lobsided shape (our one hedge is a collapsing triangle – I now greet my neighbour every day). It is my quiet time, my time to reflect, re-focus and release and my time alone with God.
I never knew there was a Frangipani plant in my garden until it flowered for the first time. It is my favourite flower. I took it as a welcoming card from Him, this, here is your home. In the past few weeks I have been questioning life, the ebb and flow and seasons and as I was weeding furiously in between my aloes, I discovered a new seedling with delicate white flowers that look like little bells hiding in the shadow of a leaf. And He said, there is always beauty, there is always a second chance. 
He always speaks. Sometimes in the smell of the sea, in the call of seagulls, sometimes in the destruction sowed by snails (those little buggers drive me nuts). He reminds me that even though things change, they break and bleed, there is always love, there is always hope.

One Flame

I have seen the bottom
Of my soul,
The darkness etched within,
I have explored it, indulged it, tempted it and called it out:
And own it.
By acknowledging it
I dragged it
The light
And what I realised is
That even one flicker
Ember flame
Is enough to reignite a
Weary wanderer soul.

Copyright Hiraeth 2014