W.A. HEART
Senior Registered
Hello again...
OK, here I go.
My earliest memories... (I didn't call them memories at that time) .. I was 13, or so. No more than that. With no apparent reason (I'm 37 now - there was no internet back then, information didn't come about quite as easily..) I developed a peculiar obsession for the British isles. I drove my mom crazy, kept asking if we could go and visit Scotland, for instance, or Ireland... And one day I woke up earlier than usual, right before sunrise.. and decided to write "a poem". It just came to me, the need to do it, the words I wanted to write.
It wasn't quite a poem, though. It was more like an essay - about my life with my welsh husband. Unfortunately I don't have those pages anymore, my notebook got lost somehow...
Memories flowed like the rain on the hills... A cottage, lonely and well kept. Small and lovely. The loveliest I've ever seen really. I woke up at the crack of dawn to get the house going for the day. There was a warm smell in my room, my husband lay there still sleeping.. oh, to this day the tears swell to my eyes when I recall that rush of words onto the paper, not knowing where it came from, but so, so real... I wrapped a woolen shawl around my shoulders and stood there for a while, looking at him, his hair auburn, glowing in the dim golden light. I touched his bare shoulder and by the life of me I can still feel his skin, the softness and the warmth.
I came downstairs then. I distinctly remember the bedroom being upstairs, and that the stairs where beside a wall, whitewashed I think, and at mid height there is a window, small with rugged edges and dark wood. Outside the world is still at rest, I remember thinking that all the animals are still quiet, it must be very early, and yet it isn't all dark, a pale golden light pouring over everything...
There are some brass artifacts somewhere, they reflect that beautiful light in a soft way...
The kitchen is at the back of the house. I have a big black coal stove there. On a wooden table by the wall there are several jars of marmalade, and they seem to glow, they catch the morning light in a way that makes me feel so, so at home. My home, where I am mistress. My realm.
I light the fire to get the water boiling and the coals smell nice. There's heather in the coal hole, I put it there because I like the smell so much.
I'm making some kind of coffee but it's not coffee, looks similar but doesn't smell the same. I don't know what it is...
My husband comes down. He's naked from the waist up, and I know he's not cold, although the weather is biting... he smiles at me, the smallest of smiles, and sits at the table, watching me go about my things. I feel so peaceful, so full of love.
Not a man of many words, he isn't.. his presence is so wonderfully complete, secure and warm....
At this point something "woke" me. I stopped writing, paused a while, and then... it was gone. Not the feeling, but that tidal flow of thoughts, memories, sounds, smells...
To this day I ache at those memories. Like you, Tinkerman, I miss my husband so much.
OK, here I go.
My earliest memories... (I didn't call them memories at that time) .. I was 13, or so. No more than that. With no apparent reason (I'm 37 now - there was no internet back then, information didn't come about quite as easily..) I developed a peculiar obsession for the British isles. I drove my mom crazy, kept asking if we could go and visit Scotland, for instance, or Ireland... And one day I woke up earlier than usual, right before sunrise.. and decided to write "a poem". It just came to me, the need to do it, the words I wanted to write.
It wasn't quite a poem, though. It was more like an essay - about my life with my welsh husband. Unfortunately I don't have those pages anymore, my notebook got lost somehow...
Memories flowed like the rain on the hills... A cottage, lonely and well kept. Small and lovely. The loveliest I've ever seen really. I woke up at the crack of dawn to get the house going for the day. There was a warm smell in my room, my husband lay there still sleeping.. oh, to this day the tears swell to my eyes when I recall that rush of words onto the paper, not knowing where it came from, but so, so real... I wrapped a woolen shawl around my shoulders and stood there for a while, looking at him, his hair auburn, glowing in the dim golden light. I touched his bare shoulder and by the life of me I can still feel his skin, the softness and the warmth.
I came downstairs then. I distinctly remember the bedroom being upstairs, and that the stairs where beside a wall, whitewashed I think, and at mid height there is a window, small with rugged edges and dark wood. Outside the world is still at rest, I remember thinking that all the animals are still quiet, it must be very early, and yet it isn't all dark, a pale golden light pouring over everything...
There are some brass artifacts somewhere, they reflect that beautiful light in a soft way...
The kitchen is at the back of the house. I have a big black coal stove there. On a wooden table by the wall there are several jars of marmalade, and they seem to glow, they catch the morning light in a way that makes me feel so, so at home. My home, where I am mistress. My realm.
I light the fire to get the water boiling and the coals smell nice. There's heather in the coal hole, I put it there because I like the smell so much.
I'm making some kind of coffee but it's not coffee, looks similar but doesn't smell the same. I don't know what it is...
My husband comes down. He's naked from the waist up, and I know he's not cold, although the weather is biting... he smiles at me, the smallest of smiles, and sits at the table, watching me go about my things. I feel so peaceful, so full of love.
Not a man of many words, he isn't.. his presence is so wonderfully complete, secure and warm....
At this point something "woke" me. I stopped writing, paused a while, and then... it was gone. Not the feeling, but that tidal flow of thoughts, memories, sounds, smells...
To this day I ache at those memories. Like you, Tinkerman, I miss my husband so much.
, but today it "feels" slightly different. Yesterday the ground looked a bit bare, as if sun crested.