Great choice of words to get the little grey cells in my brain working! 😀 Thanks, Colleen! ♥
This year, especially, I begrudge the start of Autumn. After breaking my hip 4 weeks ago, I felt as if I was forced to merely observe the second half of summer through shaded glass, from a hospital bed. So, it is with a certain sense of sadness that I step outside and feel the changes in the air. Soon, the violent winds will come and rip the leaves from the trees. Soon, the first snow will be upon us, though the last one feels too recent.
My dreams and plans will NOT be derailed; I shall not long allow this grieving, but, meanwhile, I cry for summer and write poems about its passing. Judging by e.e.cummings’ quote, he felt the same as I do. 😉
Two poems for you:
I will not apologize for loving summer,
For reveling in the warmth of the sun,
For worshipping the myriad greens of life and growth.
But, here comes Fall, once again,
The cold and blustering thief of my happiness.
It strips away the heat, and the flowers,
And the leaves with such a force
That I cannot call it fall or autumn…
Thief of Summer –
I name you ‘Snatch.’
… wendy anne darling 2016
Flowers and I stood,
Fearless in the face of Death…
Prior to the Fall.
…wendy anne darling, 2016
Yesterday, I saw a video posted on Youtube of J.K. Rowling, talking about failure, It is one of the most heart wrenching and inspiring things I’ve ever seen and so jammed packed with fabulous quotes that I could NOT pick just one and chose to add a link to the short segment. It’s only around 2 minutes, and part of a longer address to graduating Harvard Students.
To say this video knocked me sideways, is an understatement. It prompted me to write the piece below, and I realized – as I was writing – that we really must DIE to be truly reborn. The old J.K. died, the old was burned away and, left with a pen and paper, she wrote her new life as she wanted it to be.
This is how I see my own rebirth:
MY OWN STORY
The house looks like it’s been bombed.
Photos of hope still adorn broken walls,
Betrayed smiles staring back at me.
The bricks and mortar of a life –
Thoughtlessly, callously, strewn –
And trust lies, shattered, on the bedroom floor.
If I stay here, I will end here
If I have not already gone
The air is poisoned and there’s nothing to sustain me
But I stare through cracked and dirty windows
Looking for a sign,
And I see nothing.
I remember back
To long ago
When I believed in magic
And I seek my trusty wand
Poking out from beneath someone else’s dream,
It calls to me
But it’s broken in two pieces
From the battle.
I hold them in my hands and lift them high
WHAT IS MAGIC FOR, IF NOT FOR THIS?
I grasp one piece of wand and sketch a portal
On one unbroken stretch of wall
And then I draw a handle
Then a lock
I draw myself a key.
I TURN THE KEY…
There is nothing on the outside of the portal.
Like walking into a whiteout
And so I crawl
And draw myself a path.
A path AWAY
A path TOWARDS
On my knees…
I WRITE MY OWN STORY NOW…
Wendy Anne Darling, 2016.
It probably won’t surprise anybody that several of the items that are precious to me are books! Aside from having succeeded in purchasing replacement copies of all the childhood books I loved and lost when my family moved to South Africa. I love this copy of ‘The Works of Shakspeare’* which was given to me by a friend in 1982, with a previous dedication of ‘To dear Little Ula from “Toddles” Nov: 1908. I’d love to know who they were!
*Shakspeare is as written on the Cover. and the fly leaf has ‘Ladies’ College, Cheltenham’ handwritten on it.
My daughter Lainey has done some research on it and concluded that it was probably printed around 1890. Likely to have been mass produced for schools, this one still has the gilding visible on the top edge.
This edition, though not in very good shape, is precious to me, nonetheless, and now lives life protected in a Ziplock baggie! 😀
Wendy Anne Darling
Why not join us for this week’s Writer’s Quote Wednesday from Colleen Chesebro at Silver Threading and share your favorite writers’ quotes, or even one of your own!
Craft your potions with care!
My favorite quote this week is from Dean Koontz. I’ve always loved books about magic, but I’m realizing more and more that I adore and revere the magic of the author’s craft of writing even more.
To be able to write new worlds and fill them with tales and characters that completely capture a reader’s attention seems to me like the most precious form of spell-work!
PERCEPTION IS REALITY
I can vividly remember stumbling out of a darkened cinema near London’s Piccadilly Circus some thirty-plus years ago, the two of us coming to a sudden stop as the bright lights, the city sounds, and the suffocatingly clammy warmth of an English summer evening assaulted our senses. We had spent what felt like a lifetime glued to a movie screen; alone, though surrounded by a hundred other moviegoers, living the tale of Doctor Zhivago. We knew the Doctor like a member of our own family and we were silently screaming our grief as Lara and our friend were finally parted forever.
We were Russians in a state of shock, and exiting those doors onto the streets of London, England felt like we had been suddenly and rudely deposited onto the streets of an unknown planet. Our own world no longer felt real.
Perception is reality.
Some years later, the two of us had an extended argument about a visit we had had from a friend. I was adamant that Tony had come to see us on the day that I had cooked a full roast beef Sunday lunch. Dammit all! I remembered every minute of that lunch in my head – I could see it all, but my other half insisted that was not what happened. He, being his usual self, could not let it drop. Most people would eventually agree to disagree… wouldn’t they? Well, not my other half. He kept talking… and talking; he wouldn’t let it rest until he was certain I’d seen it all from the perspective of HIS memory.
And you know what? He was right. When enough of his words had finally sunk into my brain I realized that I had totally mixed two different days in my memory. He was exultant. And I was… WRONG. I felt that cold shock again of suddenly being dumped onto the streets of London when I was really a Russian in mourning.
Had Mike, who had an almost pathological fear of being proven wrong – or of losing at anything, for that matter – not felt the need to keep worrying away at it, my perception that Tony had come to dinner and I had served him roast beef would have remained a reality in my mind until the day I died. In which case, of course, Mike would probably have been waiting for me at the pearly gates with Tony, who would have said “We had fish and chips!”
This last week I was in serious need of a vacation. But where does one go when they are too financially strapped to go anywhere? For me, the answer has always been simple. I have a strange secret… there is one wall in this house where multiple doors to different dimensions are available when I need them. I know that those dimensions are real because my daughter has opened some of those doors and had her own adventures there – I recognize the signs when she returns: the far-away looks, feet almost imperceptibly not quite touching the floor, and that slight frown of confusion which persists for anything from several minutes to several days.
I went to Hogwarts.
I didn’t want to come back, but there’s only so long that you can hide inside the back door of a portal to another world before your supposed ‘real-life’ memories come back and you have to walk through and close the door. On this trip, I heard something that I don’t remember from previous visits; Albus Dumbledore made a comment to Harry, near the end of the story: “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?” And then the twinkly-blue eyed Professor winked at me and, in my mind, added softly; “This is the golden key to writing, Wendy, use it wisely!”
And that, dear friends, is my perception, and therefore, my reality. 🙂
I love your fairy magic quote, Colleen! It reminded me of one I wrote a while ago, so I thought I’d share that today!