Writing a journal kept me (almost) sane through some crazy times and this week I pondered whether to throw the old ones out. I was quite a prolific writer in those dark days so they are taking up quite a chunk of drawer space. Plus life’s moved on in a good way so what purpose are they serving other than a reminder of the time my whole life fell apart.
Against better judgement, I started to flick through pages. I’d poured my heart (what was left of it) and so much anger on to that paper, I’m surprised it hadn’t gone up in flames of it’s own accord! I came across a piece I’d written, I think I was trying to find a more creative, less toxic way to express how I felt. I thought I’d share it with you ..
There once was a scrubby patch of earth, nothing special just brown and dusty. Worms came and went, the odd bird would take a bath in the loose earth and then fly away to more bountiful destinations. It felt neglected and barren, no-one had cared for it in a while and any residue of past blooms had faded and become part of the dust.
It hadn’t always been like this. It once was full of hope and promise, a place where flowers bloomed albeit in a haphazard array but the air was filled with perfume and the sound of bees. All who looked upon it could see the love with which it had been planted and there were great hopes for the future of this little garden. As the years passed Summer turned into Autumn and life drained from a once colourful corner of this earth. The attentive gardener took no pleasure in looking after her flowers and the ground became overgrown with weeds. Now the garden was alone, choked with painful thorns and bindweed which sucked the soil of its life-giving ‘blood’. At last Winter came and covered the garden in a blanket of snow.
The months went by and the Sun shone down on the patch warming it during the day and at night the Moon looked on lovingly and lay upon it a silvery eiderdown hoping once again to see the blooms that were once there.
One day a flock of birds visited the patch, they told tales of a valley of flowers that they had flown from and as they scratched around in the earth small seeds fell from their feathers and became embedded in the soil. Rain gently fell and the birds departed in a flurry covering the dropped seeds. The next day small leaves appeared followed by elegant stems. The Sun beamed gently and at night the Moon caressed the fragile new life. Days passed and the plants became stronger, they waved in the breeze and stretched their roots deep into the soil.
By Summer the plants were covered in small fluffy buds just waiting to bloom and one day, when they could wait no more, the garden burst in to a rainbow of colour. Bees and butterflies came from far and wide to feed on its nectar and bask in the beauty. The gardener looked out onto the once barren patch and her heart leapt. Tears filled her eyes and she walked into the garden which looked like a gift from God. She turned to the Universe and thanked it for giving the garden a second chance.
What creativity came out of your dark times?