Bare branches begin
to grow as the sunshine turns
Winter into Spring.
Rolling down the scented hills
of peach and pineberry.
From a black and white world, you showed me there are colours.
You opened the door to another world. A world no longer black and white.
Now that you’ve touched me with your colours, I will never see the world the same way again.
Photo – Kristie Bonnewell
in and out
of the trees
to the beat
of the forest
We stand around the bonfire,
listening to fire crackling wood,
as ash and embers touch the sand.
We think of magical tridents on fire,
as we think of Poseidon and the sea.
Grandma has this old jug she uses to water her plants made of tin, with white and a bit of blue and red paint here and there. We think someone made it for her when she was younger, yet no one is sure.
Her grandson cannot understand how this crappy old jug seems to be back in fashion again. He’s never understood this fixation with idle objects.
He’s mischievous and often looks for insects, animals, and anything that crawls. Once his mum found a spider’s nest in his room. It almost frightened her to death, so now she won’t let him have insects in the house.
One day he took Grandma’s jug for a walk to the termite mound, which is a dirt fortress for insects. He thinks of the world of the king and the queen, the workers, and the soldiers inside.
Interested in how things work, he pours water into the mound to see what happens. Water starts to leak out of the various holes, yet there isn’t much damage. He examines the termites on the ground. Some have wings, and some do not. He thinks, “Perhaps Grandma’s jug is useful.“
Not wanting to hurt any of the insects, he leaves for home; in a few days, he will check on the termite mound to see the results.
When he returns, not only have the insects repaired the mound, but it has increased in size.
He scribbles down a note, “Experiment number 251. Termites like water. “
Your passion for extremes has always given me a sense of excitement and this newfound energy. I got caught up in your adventurous nature, that dark curly hair, and those sparkly eyes.
I never understood why your ironing basket was always empty, why you had those strange contraptions hooked on to your ironing board, and why you always took so much care of that ironing board.
I began to question our love, for you would sneak away and then return unkempt and exhausted. What were you doing? Did you find someone else to touch and tingle?
Then one day, out of the blue, you took me into your world and showed me your soul. You showed me how much you love to go on adventures, how to conduct extreme ironing in exotic locations, why adventures together are better than adventures alone, and why power points never seem close when you are so far away.
We continue to embrace your ironing board until this day. We have photographs on our walls of that ironing board, you and me.