Dandelion Seed

Tuesday is mine. I feel severed. Like 3/4 of me has been hacked off and the remainder rises like an umbrellared seed, it wafts about wonderfully with no apparent direction. Yes I am still a couple of stone overweight but I feel light. Not confused, well maybe a little but so free it makes me want to cry.

River

Mon Nov 26
River
42
Mid life?

I had a lie in this morning; the thinking was that there must be some perks to running my own company. In half sleep, after a fantastic weekend of entertaining and ‘Bristol time’, my life seemed clear in front of me. I could see it, who I was and what I was doing. My life was like a river and I could picture myself in the middle.

A trickle of water gathering momentum, a little babble of youth collects into the fast bumping over stones leaving moorland flow. Fresh, clear, fast and freezing cold. Fierce, purposeful in it’s downwards force. Crashing into rocks that would not move, tumbling, foaming, falling, and crashing again and again.

We fall into villages as becks and rolled up trousered children pick out our rock cleaners under tiny arches of stone. The land eases up and alone we slide away through woods, we make small cliffs and run over moss green rocks slithery smoothed by others, into towns. Past the concrete channels we breath out and widen, spread out collecting, reaching out as if for information as our peripheries tinkle bright lightly over pebbles and fish swim deep in our belly.

The momentum towards the sea is strong but we meander, the sky opens up, bees buz in our banks and fattening cows squidge down openings to suck still water with hot mouths.

Like retirement we join with others to form a wide, deep, powerful journey and quietly shift through cities. We can sense the salt and soon we are to feel the sand bottomed estuary. Eventually and inevitably we are lost in the deep blue forever sea.

Others have been partly gene whisked off by the wind to land on the moor, almost recognizable. But my river flows deep and rests with the echoing songs and hovering seathrough fish.

Thank you for being there in the wind.

Thank you for letting my hair
flick in your face and
my thoughts trample in the space
of your head.

Thank you for letting me lean on you
when you were finding it difficult to stand.
Thank you for being there with me
and thank you for being my friend.

http://www.carolpeace.com/detail.asp?tc=13&mc=1&sc=44&w=608

This piece ended up taking until 23 April 2012 to get the first one made but I posted it the date I wrote the poem (if you can call it a poem) as that was when I made the work. Language wise its a terrible poem but it means a lot to me.

Never alone again

Working title – Never alone again

   

I have worked on this piece since this post, the mothers head now looks down, more in thought than at something, someone. I loved it like this but somehow it seemed too much.The working title, is named after someone close to me, her overriding feelings about bringing her baby home from the hospital, she was at last relieved that she would never again feel alone.