Wake to the sounds of traffic

I haven't made a blog post of late because I've been through a major house move & my mind and body are still so very, very weary. If it wasn't for my wonderful son Erin & my friend Shaun who did the lifting & carrying & helped me settle in last Saturday & the peripheral emotional and other support from a few valued friends I wouldn't have maintained any sanity at all. However, here I am, living somewhere else and day by day getting used to the new sights and sounds - I wake to the sound of traffic & go to sleep listening to it.- something I didn't have to do in sleepy Hawthorn. During the day the traffic is strangely comforting because it tells me that there is a world outside, not that I ever doubted it, but because in Hawthorn it was so quiet. My first thought on awakening is about the two Magpies that I left behind and how much I already miss them, their beautiful warble, their knowing of me and their strange little ways. I was slight consoled a couple of days ago when I saw a Blackbird, some Doves and this cute little chick, though I still don't know what it is.

I took this photo of it through my lounge-room window, which has a fly-wire screen. The little bird walked around and then flew away. I haven't seen it since. My sleep has been erratic, in fact yesterday whilst meditating in the late afternnon I fell asleep & then woke up in time to make dinner. Consequently I wasn't tired enough to go to bed until midnight last night & then woke at six this morning. I do have plans to take some B & W photographs of people and things around Richmond, however before then I do remind myself now to pick up some A3 printouts of some past photographs - am thinking of putting photos on my walls rather than paintings. I have to say that I love the Salvos shops. Yesterday I purchased a small Art Deco wardrobe for my bedroom (there are no built-in wardrobes in my bedroom). I wiped it out with some Lavender essential oil on a wet rag just to make it smell a little fresher and then sorted through my clothes again. I'm hoping that I can be more relaxed over the new few days as I appear to have sorted out most of the issues involved with moving here. I was thinking about how bits of the past, represented by material goods can disappear and then reappear upon recollection and I started writing a poem. It's just a draft and not yet complete.

 

The past

is whittled away

slowly.

But sometimes,

just sometimes

there is a twitch of remembrance

the kind you can’t touch or scratch.

Like a phantom limb

bits of history haunt the flesh

makes us believe that the limb

is still intact.