CONNECTIONS #BloggersBash Bestest Blog Post Competition The Tree and Me

The Sacred Tree – na Bílí – is where I made my home, called by a voice unknown, challenged but in the end found worthy. The heart knows when it is home. I pay my respects from a distance, content to wait.

And trees have time to kill.

My life has been filled with trees, from the day as a teen when I missed my train to work because I was so busy writing a poem (Winter Trees) about the trees which bordered the platform, to the day only a few months ago, when I planted the first trees in my garden.

I love them. I admire them. I respect them. I cry when I see one cut down. I feel pain when I see the naked wound of pale, fresh wood.

Trees are tactile. They invite touch. Against my skin, the trunk is cold, hard, unyielding. The tree is not like me: I am soft, warm, weak flesh. Silent and strong he stands, old long before I was thrust into existence; he will remain long after I am gone.

The tree is not like me. He reaches for the stars, blossoms for the sun, always standing tall and proud, bowing to none, resisting. When the storm rages, he dances and sings, but he is resolute.

I am not like the tree. I drift where life’s breeze blows me. I shy from sun and storm. I am human, enslaved to my weak, warm flesh.

The broad path leads me through the forest, and I am dazzled by the myriad shades of green, by the capricious filter of sunbeams, by the golden fall of last years leaves, shed like autumn tears. Above me, branches interlace, shaping the vault of nature’s cathedral. Protecting. Embracing. Forming me into the precious relic contained within their shrine. I breathe, and the burden of life’s woes is lifted.

Beneath my feet, deep in the dark, damp earth, roots search out kin, binding, weaving together, supporting one another, connecting. They are all different – the oak, the scots pine, the rowan, the willow. And yet, they are all the same.

Just like us.


I was inspired to write this by the #BloggersBash Blog Post Competition, which this year is all about ‘Connections‘.

Submit your entry here.


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A Mother’s Thoughts and Fears | Update

Covered in blood
Covered in blood

Some people say that the internet community is not really composed of actual friends. I always felt that wasn’t true, and now, after yesterday’s experience, I know it.

I’ll admit I was fragile yesterday. I know if I had reached out into my physical locality, I would have found love and support from my ‘real’ friends, but I actually couldn’t face facing people, if you know what I mean.

So I poured it all out here, and you rallied round. It was amazing, and humbling. Something I am grateful for, and will never forget.

But what you really want to know is, how is Carys?

Well, she is a little star! Daddy brought her home about 1pm. She looked like she’d been in a war zone, she was covered in blood, and I mean, it was everywhere! But she smiled, she ate and drank, took her meds, played, interacted and was completely and utterly charming, as if nothing had ever happened.

9 perfect baby teeth
9 perfect baby teeth

But wait till you hear what they did to her! Removed 9 baby teeth, because they were obstructing her adult teeth and preventing them from coming down; four fillings, and snipped the skin flap which joins her bottom lip to her gums, because it was too small and tight.

Poor little girl!

Anyway, thank you for all your kindness, support, caring comments and love for Carys. Have a great weekend, everyone. xxx

Book Review | Tiger in a Cage by Allie Cresswell

Tiger_in_a_Cage_Cover_for_Kindle
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When I realised that the main protagonist of Allie Cresswell’s latest novel, Tiger in a Cage, was not quite the heroine I had believed her to be, I was quite taken aback; I had not seen it coming. I didn’t want to believe it. But rather than leaving me disappointed, the author had me enthralled, my interest firmly anchored in this character I wanted to despise, but couldn’t. Cresswell had managed to get me on the side of someone who, in real life, I would probably have no time for.  Continue reading