22 Wednesday May 2013
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I’m here.
With a new job and darker hair, in autumn instead of summer, I’m here.
Still without a bedroom cupboard, but with a new typewriter added to my collection as if that’s a consolation, I’m here.
See, much is the same.
Quiet of voice, shaky of heart, I’m here.
I’m still here.
05 Tuesday Mar 2013
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One year ago today, I decided that my first post (published, not written) was good enough to stay here, exposed for the world to see and allowing for the expectation of more posts to come.
And they have, for the most part.
The month of February 2013 is excluded from that achievement. This little blog has been as lonely as the jersey I began knitting in January, and the new recipe books left untouched on the shelf.
I haven’t had nothing to say in that time. I just… haven’t quite gotten the words out.
This past year has made that feeling acute as it’s never been before.
Not because I have hordes of readers waiting in anticipation for more words, but because I like coming here. And I think that sitting here, stringing words together, allowing them to show up and then rearranging them, deleting some, adding others…
Sitting here, stringing words together, is good for me. Happy birthday little blog.
Posted by ginger | Filed under life stories, words & what makes them
31 Thursday Jan 2013
I was a small, shy child, with a head covered in ginger curls that later straightened. That head was filled with stories of squabbling gods on mountains, in the underworld, waiting in halls as tall as the sky for fallen kings.
Sometimes I heard them shuffling furniture from room to room just before it rained, and watched thrown lightening bolts arc across kilometres.
I don’t remember being afraid, not of the thunder.
I’m taller now, in height at least, and there is far more that scares me.
But still there is magic in a Highveld storm, when the sky around dense black clouds is shaded yellow or a murky green, and the wind raises its head to toss trees from side to side, and street lights turn on in the middle of the afternoon.
Rain drops kamikaze to the floor with tragic determination, bringing leaves and the last of Spring’s blossoms with them.
Posted by ginger | Filed under what I see
