last words

little saviours

My local council has been named and shamed as bottom of the league; one of two described pretty much as “worst in the universe.” I don't know the ins and outs of it, I'm sure a shedload of money has been squandered, filched and otherwise re-routed - but that's politics and power. Numbered beasts, in my opinion; no matter what colour they claim to be, fire and brimstone always "out" themselves.

My little haven nestles, purring, in the shelter of a steep banking - beautiful with grass and trees planted to hold the soil firm. At the top there's a block of flats with a common walkway. Vandals broke the fence. The council guys have been fixing it. It's very dark on that walkway so they have also installed a new streetlight, replacing 3 others while they were at it. Now I know it's small stuff - but it's real. Repairing a fence because it's right to do so is as karmically significant as saving the planet.

These little things could so easily have been ignored. Who would know? I live on the outskirts of a conglomerately rundown but highly spirited city. My street is invisible and who uses a back walkway at night anyway?

What I'm saying is that I'm impressed - touched - by thoughtfulness that did not ignore. You can label it health and safety all you like … I still think it's about caring.

Among concrete edifices there are flowers. I'll never know “who” sent the workmen out to fix my street -

but I'm smiling Thank You.

don't even say it ...

silent wow ...

*photo by Walter Koprolin

meanwhile ...

I am a Canna What Flower Are You?

"You stand up for what you believe in, even if it gets in the way of what other people think. You are proud of yourself and your accomplishments and you enjoy letting people know that."

vessels

Inches from the sterile charnel heap lodged
in crowded suitcase tombs beneath my bed,
I half-slept beside you.
Inches from your heart.
Time beat a worried path through bone,
Yet sometimes, in your arms, I felt almost loved.

By day the waxen femur in my hand left yellow
stains - death reduced to pollen in my palm.
I studied grains and lines,
breathed warm on them
as if life's echo might recall a memory,
a moment when another’s hand touched thigh.

With sorrow's heavy head resting on soft ribs
I wonder how alike are bones and blood,
hollow vessels drifting
in slow dreaming marrow,
and I, sad daughter, mourning relics of a
time when it was your turn to feel almost loved.

*image: Jean-Paul Avisse

dog day

It’s been awhile since a huge matted-fur sort-of “dulux” dog pounced on me in the middle of the road. It’s been a while since I’ve been so bossy with my Amazonian friend K as well, but we all emerged unscathed. Apart from my new jumper which now has several pulled threads and my jeans are filthy but I don’t care. Really.

I was taking K to acupuncture for her long term back problem when the dog broke its feeble ropes and hurtled out to greet the world, narrowly missing several vehicles. It’s lucky that K and I are always on the look-out for beings who need saving. This is only a mistake when it involves people. Animals are supreme beings so it’s always an honour to help them.

So, dog was wild with freedom. I halted Chief (blocked a side-road but sod the highway code – one less angle of injury in my view.) K leaped out and called. Dog came but she couldn’t hold him. Who knows how long he’d been planning his escape, he was excited with it all. And wriggling. Gormlessly. Then he saw me coming round the car and liked the look of me too, or the new jumper. He leaped at me with the hugest smile on his muddy, matted face. What can you do? I wrestled him playfully to the floor while finding a grip in his fur. Ok, he might have a different take on that.

The landrover, whose way I was blocking, didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact many stopped to watch the friendly chaos. In these parts wrestling matches don’t usually come free – twenty pints of beer will set it off on a weekend but you also have to sell your mother/grandfolk/sister. And many do.

I got Dog in the car while K chatted with an arrived woman who knew where he lived. There was no-one home so K and I explored possibilities. We also found a house-key in the drive but K said it wouldn’t be legal to use it and let dog into the house. There was a sort of doghouse, way too small but clearly “his” and we shut him in there.

I can still smell him on me – he’s part of me now. Which is why I called the RSPCA. The woman searched for ages to find the address. K said what road it was and we clocked the house number on our return journey from hospital. But the roadname was wrong. K is a native here, so I was stunned at that. We used the hospital (once she found it) as a base point and I directed her to Dog’s place from there. She was superb. Never once did she back out of it, not once did she say I was making a fuss about nothing. But you know what? My biggest fear was that K and I would find Dog dead (or worse) at the side of the road on the way back.

My next biggest fear was that this could happen again - without me or K to coax him onto a safe backseat. Dog deserves better than that. My nextest biggest fear – that I sent him back to a hell he’d worked hard to escape and maybe death in roadworld was preferable to him.

I‘ll worry about Dog for ages now. I’ll worry that maybe I’ve made things worse for him … neglect knows no scale of severity .. it is or it isn’t.