previously unpublished – The Kentish Lass

Thirty years on 6th March

Thirty years have passed since he left this world, since the sea stole him. Long years of nights and days of wishing I had not encouraged him to go.

I remember where I was, what I was doing and what I was wearing when I heard the news that rocked my world and stole my breath. That fateful Friday evening. I hoped against hope throughout that night but in the early hours of the Saturday he came to say his final goodbye, and I knew he was gone.

Nearly a two month wait for his body to be recovered, one of the last to be brought home. Trapped in the capsized vessel.

The enduring image of those nightmare days and weeks of waiting for the news that his body had been found and would be brought ashore is that of the ship lying stranded on its side, nets over the hold doors to try to keep the sea from carrying away the contents of the car deck.

He is never far from my thoughts, but this year he has been more evident. Images of him, smiling and tanned (he was always tanned), his voice, his laugh, the sound of his bundle of keys jangling: always an advance warning that he was not far. This year I have felt the need to visit places he and I explored.

He was my lover, and my greatest friend. I miss him still, but no longer with the agonising ache of the early years. No longer with the same intense grief. Now the feeling is more one of sadness and regret, that he was taken too soon, that we never got to do and see the things and places we had planned. That the mistakes and errors that led to his death and the other 192 lives still continue to this day.

I am no longer unhappy without him. But I do still miss him. He will be forever in my heart.

Autumn

I adore the golden hues of Autumn. The trees changing their greens to reds, russets, ambers, yellows, orange, gold, rare blue and blacks.

Early morning spider webs glistening with dew, appearing as precious gems strewn haplessly over bushes. Crisp morning frosts that freeze the exhaled breath. The Sunday afternoon walks in the woods, the rustle of leaves underfoot, returning home as the evening begins.

Drawing the curtains, closing out the world. That first time it is cold enough to light the open fire and being cosy.

The joy of celebrating the harvest in September. The hunt for nature’s jewels of horse chestnuts, cob-nuts, sweet chestnuts, rose-hips, haws, acorns, pine cones, elderberries, blackberries. Preserving the fruits to feed us through natures lean months reminding us of the joys of blossom that has been and will come again.

Cider making from the late apple harvest. Elderberry wine, Sloe Gin. The start of the jam, jelly, marmalade, pickle and chutney making. The satisfaction of seeing rows and rows of gleaming jars of preserved apples, pears, blackcurrants, blackberries, onions, beet roots. Michaelmas and the season for goose.

Halloween celebrations: not the trick or treaters but the old tradition of bobbing for apples, the ghost, or witch stories.

Bonfire Night, childhood memories of tomato soup in mugs (so special as drunk from a mug – no spoon!), sausages with onions in bread rolls, wrapped in paper napkins. Jacket potatoes cooked in the glowing embers of the bonfire. Sparklers! Catherine Wheels and star burst fireworks. Stir up Sunday and, for me this is, the start of the build to Winter and Christmas.

Relics

Plates, cups, saucers, knives and forks
Boxes upon boxes, piled in the corner
Cobweb hung, dust covered relics of a dream

Another Dimension

She seated herself on the old familiar bench to rest a while, to be alone with her thoughts. The bench was hard against her back but it felt good supporting her weary bones. Sunlight seeped through the grey clouds, and a gentle breeze lifted leaves from the path, sending them scuttling hither and thither, swirling round her feet. She rested, head slightly tilted, one hand relaxed in her lap the other supporting her on the the bench beside her. If anyone passing by noticed her they would have seen the gentle smile curve her lips and the softening of her gaze.

She felt the tentative touch of his fingers on hers, the firmness of his other arm as he gently laid it behind her, lightly across her shoulders. She tilted her head resting it on his shoulder, seeking solace from the warmth there; peace from the sensation of the rise and fall of his chest with each breath he took. The gentle breeze floated across her and she felt his fingers caress her hair, the sun played across her face and the lightest of kisses from his lips touched her forehead.

Feeling the tension ease from her body, he continued to run his fingers through her silken hair. Bending his head he breathed in the scent of her, his lips brushing her forehead. He wanted so much to tell her how he yearned to hold her to him. How he craved the feeling of joy her presence gave him, but he knew she would not hear his words. He knew she would leave soon, just as she had the last time and the time before. A tear escaped and trickled down his cheek, hastily he wiped it away. He did not want her to know his pain.

The breeze was no more, now the wind blew across the land, whipping at her legs. With a sigh she stood to go and pulled her coat closer round hoping to hold his warmth a little longer to her heart.

He dropped his head to his hands and let the tears flow, wishing with all his heart that their time together would not be so short. Wishing that they, not just their hearts, could be together for all time, for eternity.

Weariness overcame her and she sat once more. Her body did not feel the seat, she did not see the churchyard, but she heard him weeping and felt the wonder of touching his hair once more.

He felt the touch of her hand in his hair and raised his head, to see her gazing into his eyes. Hesitantly, trembling with fear, scared she might disappear, he raised his hand and touched the skin of her face. He felt the warmth, the smoothness, the softness of skin he had thought he would never feel again and clasped his love to him.

Together in the same dimension once more

Storm Catcher

Watching the cerulean blue sky darken through grey to black.
Clouds gathering. Wind lifting. Trees bending.
The sudden stillness of sound and air.
The smell of a storm rising.
The bird song ceasing, the rustle of the wind in the trees falling silent
Nature holds it’s breath, waiting for the cloud tears to fall
The storm, when it broke, all noise and light.
Ferocious in it’s intensity, stunningly magical
The eruption of thunder and streaks of lightning, rending the sky asunder, rumbling
The weeping, at first tiny droplets of sorrow,
Gently landing as a caress to the dry earth,
Growing in size to land as great juicy globules,
Slow enough to be caught on her tongue
Soon gathering speed, stronger and larger, soaking, penetrating to the skin
Her hair heavy with the rain, face streaked with cloud tears
Her clothes clinging to her, sodden and useless
The Storm Catchers face turned upwards, arms outstretched
Gathering the force of the storm to her, clasping it to her heart
Her feet dancing, revelling in the feel of the rain enveloping her
Feeling the wind gathering, pushing the clouds away
Bringing calm to the landscape, to the Storm Catchers soul.

Opus

you were the music and melody to the lyrics of my unsung song
together we created our star studded opus.
you were the dance my body wanted to learn and move to
you were my reason to breathe deep from the river of life.
you reclaimed your music, your dance. my lyrics withered and died
my body no longer dances, my feet are still and my heart weeps
for the lost love of the river of life

Your Final kiss

The day the sea took you remains with me forever.

That night no sleep came. I drifted through consciousness to despair, beyond hope, beyond belief. We knew, you and I that our time was done.

The sea, she was not discriminate in who she took that night, young, barely born, old and those just beginning to learn to live again.

In the hours between dusk and dawn my mind, my very being called to you. Fought for you. Longed for you. Finally you came to me at the breaking of dawn. I felt you and heard you. Yet it was not to stay, it was not to live our dreams.

This was not a farewell. This was beyond doubt goodbye.

I felt the brush of your last kiss, cold against my skin, like a sigh caught by the wind and dropped upon my fevered brow.

I felt your final embrace and the leaving of you shattered me into a million pieces. I knew, without conscious thought, that I would never be the same, life would never be the same. And at last the hot tears of grief came.

I grieved for what had been, what should have been, our past, our future and yes I grieved for our lost love.

Part of my soul, my heart, my mind became shrouded in a dark mist.

Held, suspended in that moment of time when the last breath left your body and caressed my skin.

Memories of you, of us, fingers entwined, eyes locked in hunger, oblivious to others, remain.

The feel of your hands in my hair, lips on my neck, urging me to soar, fly.

There are days, still, when the scent of you drifts into my mind, filling me so that no other scent exists.

There are days when I swear I can feel your arm around my waist and your sweet breath on my skin. On days such as these, time stands still.

Memories of you

The brush of your cold lips, on my fevered brow. As light as a sigh or butterfly wings.

Your final kiss.