...because the simplest of words become stories for a lifetime...
Five steps
I’d always wanted to travel to Santorini. The lost city of Atlantis had been my fascination since childhood. There had been many theories that the island could be the place where the legendary civilisation ended- just like my toxic marriage. It seemed like an appropriate place to visit…
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I took a slow step up the first white and blue stairs and breathed in the fresh Mediterranean air. It smelt of jasmine and home cooking that was drifting from windows and spilling into the street.
The second slow step up the white and blue stairs. I touched the bumpy rough walls. I attempted to stroke a butterfly that nested in the shade on a pink flower in a blue pot. In the last month, I had a constant urge to touch everything, to experience all the senses of life.
Third step up the white and blue stairs. The air tasted of salt- sea, and seafood. It tasted sweet as well- of freedom, dreams finally coming true.
Fourth step up the white and blue stairs. I looked at the branch in my hand. I picked it up on my way somehow subconsciously. I remembered my mum always tending to oleander in her home. It didn’t hold any special meaning to her but one. She had never travelled anywhere in her life until I was 6 years old. My parents saved for a long time and finally went to Egypt and from there instead of a souvenir she brought back a single branch of oleander. Oleanders are beautiful but poisonous. You need to be aware of their toxicity, that way you can admire their beauty but not get hurt yourself. Somehow my mum knew this, and she tended to it lovingly her whole life as a living reminder. -I really wish I had spent more time with her.
Fifth step up the white and blue stairs. I felt the branch in my hand. In many aspects, oleanders are like people or life itself. It deserves to be felt to be appreciated but keep healthy boundaries.
Whisper of encouragement
It’s such a beautiful day today. There is a soft wind whispering in my ear, the leaves are rustling in the whisper adding their accounts of the months passed to the wind’s tale. I wish I could add mine, but the words freeze on my lips as the need to share what has passed is replaced by a sight that is indescribably beautiful. There,
An entry to ZenGarden.club competition, picture by Amanda Flavell on Unsplash
under the maple trees, waddles my little treasure, my baby boy. He takes one leaf after another, examines it, admires it, crushes it, studies it and takes pleasure in every single sight, touch, smell and feel.
‘Oh, don’t put it in your mouth!’ I shout.
Who would have thought that time passes so quickly? He was born in the dead of the winter when trees creaked under the painful weight of snow and ice and shivered in the dark cold winter blizzard. Since then they sprouted leaves, bore the scorching heat of the summer and arriving in autumn changed their clothes to red attire.
I touch my head and feel my bare skin under the woolen hat, the same as what the branches are slowly becoming around me. The autumn of my life arrived too soon. The realisation slowly carries with the wind’s whisper. Like the trees I will go through this inevitable part of my life and will sprout new leaves, will enjoy life after the cold and merciless winter is over. Yes, my spring will come again. I will see my little one grow up.
I lift my hand and blow as hard as my weakened body allows. Bubbles filled with my hope rise through the sea of red, yellow and green leaves and my little boy stretches his chubby hands towards a new wonder in his life.
‘Come on, catch the bubbles!’
‘Bubbbbls’ he repeats with a cry of joy.
Who would have thought his first word would be bubbles?
Pumpkin in the fog
Anger coursed through Sandy every day lately. The sound of the car passing by grated her ears, the food in her mouth tasted bland, regardless of the effort that went into making it. Her newly washed clothes smelled too strong of the detergent. She thought her mother too old-fashioned and not independent to be a career woman, for she worked 9-5 and took care of her and her brother.
An entry to ZenGarden.club competition, picture by Colton Sturgeon on Unsplash
The sight of her mum working diligently in the garden, carefully unweeding and pruning in her free time was like the sound on nails on the blackboard.
One evening, finally unable to resist the feelings boiling inside, she snuck out and ran across to the garden and jumped and leaped ran across, especially enjoying the crunch of the pumpkins. She grinned from ear to ear. It felt so good. The part of the anger was gone as if she just scratched and itch and it was satisfying. Little did she know that the next day her mum, saddened by what she thought was work of a fox or a racoon, went to the garden shop for flowers and pumpkins for Halloween. It was unusual for her to go that way at that time, and as she did her car got hit by another. She was sent to the hospital.
Sandy cried herself to sleep on that Halloween night. Her stomach hurt from feelings of regret, guilt, loneliness and sadness. She was overwhelmed by so many conflicting emotions. Suddenly she remembered the damage she had caused and climbed to the window. Deep inside she knew that all the pumpkins were gone. Even so, there seemed to be one orange spot in the garden that seemed to be getting closer and closer. Out of nowhere a pumpkin stared in from the window. Cut into a jack-o-lantern, with and evil grin and hollow eyes that looked directly into Sandy’s soul. Blue fog escaped its mouth, penetrating the window and entering the room. A whisper was heard, chilling to the bone; ’Hello, Sandy. Long time no see…’