Reaching Out

Here is the first part of another of my award winning short stories, published in May 2020 by Stringybark, in the collection entitled ‘Close to Heaven.’ There was no theme required but the story had to be set in Australia, hence the Akubra and the Arnott’s Monte Carlo biscuits. I enjoyed writing this piece of fiction. I hope you enjoy reading it. Your comments are always very welcome

REACHING OUT

‘Isabel.’ He taps her lightly on the shoulder. ‘I think we should head back now.’

Beyond the bay, the water of the Southern Ocean is grey, blending with storm clouds that cover the horizon.

She stands with her arms folded across her stomach. Her frown, when she turns to face him, could mean disapproval, or confusion, or something else which he does not understand.

‘Do you mind?’ he asks. ‘I’m just concerned about that cough of yours.’ He pats his chest and pulls his Akubra further down on his head.

What more can he say without sounding interfering, or worse, like he’s fussing over her? Back when he was in the game last time, forty years ago, men were supposed to be protective of women; to take charge; be the knight in shining armour. He’s been told that modern women hate that.

‘What are the rules?’ he’d asked his twenty-four year old son.

The answer wasn’t encouraging.

‘Gees, Dad. What am I supposed to say? It was always you and Mum telling me what to do. Not that I took much notice. Now you’re asking me to tell you, my father, how to pull the chicks. What would Mum think? Not that she can hear of course, but . . . Dad.’

He fiddles with the buttons of his jacket and considers putting an arm around her. Is it too soon? Will he frighten her away? He only met her last weekend, in the final session of the retreat. Even then she seemed controlled, or shut off, but everyone was grieving and he didn’t give much away either.

He decides to risk it. Perhaps she just needs a nudge in the right direction. It’s his idea of the right direction and it might not be hers, but life’s too short to muck around. Look what happened to Jess. Happily married, both retired, ready for the big trip to Europe, then that bloody idiot went through a red light.

That’s in the past. Now, he’s on this beach with a nice woman. He’ll give it a go.

‘Isabel, let me show you something.’ Stepping closer, he puts his arm loosely around the back of her waist.

She holds firmly to her crossed arms, hesitates, then allows him to lead her away from the water.

What can he show her that she might find interesting? He’s worried that she’ll think him stupid.

Seagulls swoop over the ocean and scamper along the beach, screeching their claims for dominance and territory.

‘I found a nest up here the other day,’ he says, recalling the tiny woven basket and the grey-feathered parents taking turns to guard their eggs.

She tilts her head to look at him. He is reminded of a scene from an old romantic movie; the sort he went to in his teens when he was dating Jess.

‘Do you want to have a peep?’ Without waiting for a reply, he leads her up the path.

When they reach the nest, he presses a finger to his lips. She nods her head and waits. He lifts out shattered eggshells and broken twigs and leaves. Isabel takes his hand and holds it between her warm, smooth-skinned palms. Her mouth turns up a little at the corners, but her eyes are unable to participate in the smile she gives him.

He wants to ask her what happened to make her so sad; why she can’t smile with her eyes. It’s too soon for that.

‘Perhaps they just flew away,’ she says.

Reluctantly, he removes his hand from hers. ‘Will you come and have a coffee with me?’

Back at his house, Isabel appears far more relaxed than he feels.

‘You make good coffee.’ She breathes in the warm aroma. ‘Pretty china, too.’ She takes a sip and holds the mug with both hands. ‘I love your view.’

Still clasping the mug, she walks to the window. ‘It makes you feel good, doesn’t it, that shimmer on the water?’

The lump in his throat stifles his reply. That’s what Jess had said when she first saw the place. He goes to the pantry, fumbles with sauce bottles, waiting for the fluttering in his belly to cease.

‘Would you like a biscuit?’ He waves a packet at her. ‘They’re only Arnott’s Monte Carlos; my daughter must have left them here.’

Isabel turns to face him. ‘I’m sure they’ll be lovely, but I’m not hungry. You have some, though.’

He takes his coffee to the table, puts two biscuits on a plate and sits down, indicating for her to join him. ‘Come and tell me about yourself,’ he says.

To be continued:

Friends In My Garden: Banished Rhus, A Pair of Doves

Today I intended to write about our cruise around Lake Windermere. Unfortunately I’m using a different computer and the photos won’t show up as I want them to. Instead I will share more of my poems from my book, ‘Friends In My Garden’ and hope that you like them .

I wrote these poems for friends and family, depicting each one as something found in a garden. ‘Banished Rhus’, as the name implies, was one person who I thought was my friend but, while staying at her home for a few days I realised that she was actually not a friend at all. If you have been badly hurt by someone who you believed to be your friend, I’m sure you will relate to this poem. You might even want to pass it on to her or him, although I never did. Banishing her from my garden of friends seemed the best tactic.

The second poem was written for a couple who visited Australia each year from their home in England. Sadly, he has since passed away, but for all of you who are in happy relationships, or who have benefited from a loving marriage or partnership in your life, I hope you enjoy this. You might even want to share it with your loved one.

As always, I’d love to read your comments which you can write in the ‘comment’ box at the bottom of the page.

Banished Rhus

I had a rhus tree

with leaves that were brilliant

enticing

inviting

admired from a distance.

I stepped too close

she attacked

spewing poison from her leaves

and dripping fiery sap.

Instant

was my reaction.

Even now the pain recurs

the rash appears

on tissue scar

when I recall

the venom of her wrath.

She’s gone of course

rooted out

and if ever I see her again

I’ll take care

to keep my distance

from false vindictive rhus.

A Pair Of Doves

Two white doves

return every year.

I love to hear their cooing

a gentle sound that soothes the soul.

While he’s out during the day

she tidies and titivates the nest

chats with other birds

gathers garden goodies for tea

then fluffs out her feathers to look her best

when he returns.

They share a meal

and snuggle down for the night.

Ripples of kindness float across the darkness

encompassing me.

Friends In My Garden: Hyacinth and Peony

Life has been hectic for the last few weeks, hence my lack of postings on this site. I am keen to return to the travel tales from England but for today, I hope to please those of you who enjoy my poems, especially those from my first book, ‘Friends In My Garden.’

Hyacinth was written for a friend who lost her daughter in tragic circumstances. It was the kind of situation from which a mother would never totally recover but this lady was/is always graceful and composed. Whenever I read this poem I think of her with love and admiration.

If you know someone who bravely bares a tragic loss, you might like to share this poem with them.

HYACINTH

Hyacinth is a fragile flower

sometimes seeming aloof

in her need for seclusion.

The colours of her petals change

from purple on the sad days

to whitely unobtrusive

when she’s hiding from the world

or palest blue

in times of her remembering.

For the memory and the loss

will always remain

despite her efforts to hide the pain.

The image she presents

of calmness and restraint

is it a facade?

I think I hear her crying

in the emptiness of night

when she’s alone with her sorrow.

She’s determined to not falter

but I should remember

to tend more often

and with more care

my saddened, delicate hyacinth.

Peony was written for another brave lady. Sadly she didn’t manage to overcome cancer, but she always looked elegant and despite her condition, she was determined to live life to the full. I only really had one meeting with her but was so impressed that I sat down as soon as she left and composed this poem in her honour.

‘Friends In My Garden’ was published in 1995. Sadly, my Peony died about a year later, but I still think of her. It’s a sad poem, but I wanted to express my admiration for her determination and for the joy she radiated, despite the suffering she must have endured. I hope that my words give comfort and encouragement to others who are facing serious illness.

PEONY

This morning there appeared

a flower I’ve not seen before,

a peony.

The climate here is harsh

for so delicate a plant

but to see her blooming

you’d not be aware

of her struggle for survival.

Elated,

blossoms in profusion,

the image she presents.

I know she lost her petals

felt her trunk grow weak

but sun gave her warmth

rain fell softly on her leaves

the one who cares

for flowers and trees

nourished her with love

and hence

today

she came to grace my garden.

Friends In My Garden – Exotic Bird

This poem was written for a friend with a lovely singing voice. She is also a good listener who has often been the one I call in times of trouble. She’s not the sort of person to want centre stage but she definitely stands out from the crowd. I hope you have at least one in your friendship garden.

Exotic is my little bird

gorgeous her plumage

of brilliant emerald

and sapphire

and the richest ruby red.

She’s something of a loner

rather shy

and quiet until she sings,

then she leads the chorus.

Her voice fills my garden

with the sound of crystal music.

I love to sit and listen

not only to her song

her words are never wrong.

We share a tranquil moment

rest for a while on a bench

chat about friends and daily affairs.

A peck on my cheek

a feathery wave

and she flies home to her nest.

Colours – Yellow

This is another of my pieces inspired by colour.

Laughter is yellow

and birds in spring

a summer’s day

with boats and kites

and children playing in a garden;

a little girl on twirling toes

a kitten chasing a ball.

Yellow is smooth

it’s full of joy

a hymn of praise

a word of thanks

a kiss from a child

and friendship.

Friends In My Garden – Rose

Rose

I have a rose

a special rose

whose petals bloom

in shades of white

for her heart is pure,

to the crimson of enduring love.

Her stems have no thorns.

As near to perfect as a rose can be

with blossoms full blown

and budding heads held high

she’s a friend to treasure,

cherished and admired

by all who know her beauty.

Friends In My Garden: Owl

Owl

My friend owl

is a friend of many years.

He perches on the fence

sometimes a little wary

to join in the babble of the crowd

but when he does

they respond with hilarity

to the jokes he tells

for owl is witty as well as wise.

His nest is in a neighbouring tree

close enough to hear my call.

A quiet ear

a word of sense

he brings when I’m in need.

Sometimes there’s a tasty treat

a special prize he’s caught.

Often he’ll stop for a chat

we eat and drink

and soon there’s a bit of a party

as others hear our merriment

and drop in to join the fun

for my friend owl is a clever owl

who knows how to make others happy.

Friends In My Garden – Bizzie Lizzie

I’m sure you all have at least one character like this in your friendship garden.

Such a Bizzie Lizzie

is pretty little balsam

dashing about

always wanting to please.

Wearing happy colours

she brightens dreary corners.

There are times when she’ll work too hard

then suddenly stop

fall in a heap

her petals drop

her leaves turn crinkly brown and flop.

She’ll revive

but for a while her blossoms wilt

turning white and wan.

She hates that

wants to be out in the sun

having fun

flashing her prettiest party petals

and being busy

my Bizzie Lizzie.

Friends In My Garden – Friendship

Friends In My Garden is the name of my first book, a collection of poems about people in my life depicted as birds, flowers, trees and other things that you find in a garden. Many of you have copies, but for those who don’t and who have asked to see my poems, here is the first of forty that I will post over the coming weeks. Please keep watching and please share them with your friends.

Friendly flowers in my garden

FRIENDSHIP
Friendship is like a garden.
I throw seeds around and wait.
Sometimes a special flower appears
not flamboyant not pushy
quietly, softly it opens petals,
its beauty and gentleness
give joy to my soul.
For a while it disappears
as flowers do,

Each year I wait for my tulips to appear.

in its absence I feel a loss
but as time approaches for its return
I look for it every day
and rejoice in its welcome back.
You are like that flower
my friend.