Refugee

Screeching followed as I raced through the countryside, north. I’d heard about a man who’d help, for a cost. Rounded into the murky hub of an old boat, days huddled in cramped, stinking, silence. Waves crashed, straining its joints to the breaking point. Sirens wailed, men with guns stormed down. Terrified, we obeyed; we’d seen what authority could do. They told us we would not reach the mainland as promised. They shipped us to an island camp for processing. Here we sit in barbed wire, on dirt floors, indefinitely waiting. I didn’t know this was what safety would look like.

The Friday Fictioneers challenge is to write a story of no more than 100 words from a photo prompt, from Rochelle Wisoff-Fields of Addicted to Purple.

PHOTO PROMPT © Madison Woods

For other stories from this photo, click on the frog.

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Pieces

How many ways can I fill the days?

The weeks, months and years

Pass by in bitter memories.

 

Hope is eternally bright

Yet brings the dark stench

Of despair

To my door

To my home

To my heart

 

Never repaired

As it was never formed

Formless

Floating

Chaos

 

Grounded only by the clunk

Of metal on metal

The scratching within

That will never leave me in peace

Only in pieces

Walking the Waugal

Near where I live is the beginning of a 950km bushwalking track. Recently, I walked parts of The Bibbulmun Track, which is marked by small, yellow, triangular signs depicting a snake, the Waugal. The Waugal is the rainbow serpent of the Aboriginal Dreaming. I was following its well-worn, ever evolving, path. The power of its ancient spirit seeped into me, enticing me, guiding me, and mapping my writing journey.IMAG1123.jpg

I began close to the middle. I ventured out, looking for, following, the path of the Waugal. At times I lost my way, I doubted myself. I walked up and back along the same path. Each expedition had me looking anew and noticing new details, spotting previously missed signs left to guide my way.

Gradually I became more adept at knowing when to pause, to look around, and to retrace my steps, when following the elusive path of the Waugal. I was able to walk more intuitively as we became increasingly familiar with each other. I began to trust my step, losing my way less frequently. At times my thoughts and footsteps thundered through the bush and I would stop, put the work aside, and sit in silence.

Like the grammar of English, the track changes. It can be diverted at times due to circumstance. It is a constant learning journey. My first official expedition along the track coincided midway along my first expedition in an official grammar program. Both have, at times, baffled me and left me lost. Both challenge me to follow a well-worn path, yet find my own way, in my own way.

I am not at the beginning; I am not at the end. I will twist and turn, continuing along this winding path. One day I hope to walk its entire length. Then weave my way back, again.

* For more information about The Bibbulmun Track go to http://www.bibbulmuntrack.org.au

Three Women

My existence crumbled when the news came.

How could this be?

Cruel words from cruel deed,

designed to wound the soul.

It worked.

 

The blackness came and came,

returning in rushes like cyclonic waves.

With only a split second or two,

here or there,

to catch a glimpse of the life I once knew.

 

Running, running, running, running.

From the pain, from the fear, from here.

I need you but first I must survive the day.

 

The first gave me space to try

out my new persona.

 

The second gave me relief

for a fraction of a second.

 

You gave neither.

You held. You stayed.

You bore witness.

Then you welcomed me back,

with my shame.

 

You collected the shattered remains

of my existence.

You kept them safe

and allowed me to peer at them,

from a distance,

before deciding which ones I wanted to take.

 

You have kept the rest for me.

We know what is there.

I do not want them

but, if I do,

I have faith

you will keep them forever safe.

 

Whether in this life or another,

I will collect them when I can.

In the meantime,

I will hold others’,

and we will work together.

Life in the slow lane …

Less than 24 hours ago I made my first blog post and I was amazed this morning to see that it had been read and I had two followers.  Okay, so it appears that one of the followers is myself!  I don’t quite know how that happened, or how to undo that so for now it will have to stay that way.

It has, however, prompted me to think about how busy we can lead our lives, being almost constantly connected to the internet, with nothing being sacred anymore.  Time with family and friends, sitting, reading, are moved down the priority list as we are

IMG_5605

Homeschool graph

constantly on the go.  I have chosen to slow down, to keep my children close, to grow and cook food, to read and write.  I am a lot poorer for this lifestyle however I do believe that maths is better taught with M & M’s rather than a textbook!

 

serpentine way

she winds her way

down

meandering paths

spirit within

dreaming

beneath skies littered with lights

through forests that speak

with the clarity of sages

crackling leaves

streams as fresh

as midnight air

from hills

through towns

to drink at the bay

her winding way

Beginning in the middle

I have created this space to begin sharing my writing, and other such things.  I’m not quite sure where it will lead, if anywhere, or who it will find, if anyone.  I am interested to see who may stumble across this site, so with some trepidation I will begin ……