Sunday, 19 December 2010
stories from the apocalypse - two wolves
Did we squirm and twist past flying text and the howl of winter-driven maelstrom?
Did we???
Waking fierce to the night and crying out, in red. Watch the blizzard swirl, and there she pads. Lupine and grey-eyed, blinking in the early morning sun. His dream in the ancient brittle-boned, the maned-wolf Canidae. Following her trail.
Canis lupis and the pelt is raised in hot-blood, embraced and clawing the frosty forest ground. Alive once more. We watch the two wolves pass from sight. Entwined and dancing through the thick pine musk of a wintery needled floor.
The blizzard swirls once more, whipping our snow-blind eyes. And all is sweet surrender as they enfold in white. Alone, together.
Did we???
Waking fierce to the night and crying out, in red. Watch the blizzard swirl, and there she pads. Lupine and grey-eyed, blinking in the early morning sun. His dream in the ancient brittle-boned, the maned-wolf Canidae. Following her trail.
Canis lupis and the pelt is raised in hot-blood, embraced and clawing the frosty forest ground. Alive once more. We watch the two wolves pass from sight. Entwined and dancing through the thick pine musk of a wintery needled floor.
The blizzard swirls once more, whipping our snow-blind eyes. And all is sweet surrender as they enfold in white. Alone, together.
a glimpse of sunshine ...
A short glimpse of sunshine to brighten a cold winter morning.
My daughter brings her two sons through to our bedroom. I haul eldest aboard, and he waits expectantly for the first biscuit of the day. Each morning for the last three weeks it's been the same ritual. The muffled footsteps of a sleep-suited toddler, the warming comfort of a hot mug of tea and then the book. "My Grandpa is AMAZING!"
We've read it together these past three weeks until we both know it by heart. He even knows the page on which to find the tiny mouse. "Eeek, eeek!", and the second biscuit of the day is consumed.
And then Twitch arrives. He's smiling, he's moving ... he's alive. Had you asked me a month ago if he would see Christmas, then I would shake my head sadly. Yet he is very much here - a glimpse of sunshine on a thin, wintery morning.
My daughter brings her two sons through to our bedroom. I haul eldest aboard, and he waits expectantly for the first biscuit of the day. Each morning for the last three weeks it's been the same ritual. The muffled footsteps of a sleep-suited toddler, the warming comfort of a hot mug of tea and then the book. "My Grandpa is AMAZING!"
We've read it together these past three weeks until we both know it by heart. He even knows the page on which to find the tiny mouse. "Eeek, eeek!", and the second biscuit of the day is consumed.
And then Twitch arrives. He's smiling, he's moving ... he's alive. Had you asked me a month ago if he would see Christmas, then I would shake my head sadly. Yet he is very much here - a glimpse of sunshine on a thin, wintery morning.
Saturday, 18 December 2010
Saturday, 30 October 2010
Returning home
I hold him in my hands and rock him to sleep, a spine curved now relaxed. We are safe here in dreams. I sway from side to side and sing a low Northern lullaby. And tears of joy form.
I hold him in my arms, and he fits. My daughter scoops up his drugs from the young nurse and we return home.
"I can sort it," she says.
And she does. She reaches for a pad of paper and a pencil, and fifteen minutes later she's sorted a Drug Programme, administered five separate medications and is feeding him. Immense.
I am in the hospital with my daughter, a chattering TV screen sequined and dancing on a Saturday night. My daughter danced once. I want her so dearly to dance again.
He fits, once more. The nurse comes and times him home. Eyes rolling and shrieks, then he's back with us.
Twitch
I hold him in my arms, and he fits. My daughter scoops up his drugs from the young nurse and we return home.
"I can sort it," she says.
And she does. She reaches for a pad of paper and a pencil, and fifteen minutes later she's sorted a Drug Programme, administered five separate medications and is feeding him. Immense.
I am in the hospital with my daughter, a chattering TV screen sequined and dancing on a Saturday night. My daughter danced once. I want her so dearly to dance again.
He fits, once more. The nurse comes and times him home. Eyes rolling and shrieks, then he's back with us.
Twitch
Sunday, 17 October 2010
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