Who is this vision in the summer’s light?
Adorned
in cotton dress of white
Shrouded
in the scents of summer days
The
vision backlit by the summer rays
The
sunlight makes her naked in my eyes
A
vision of beauty under summer skies
Wednesday, 7 April 2021
VISION
LOVE AT A STROKE
I saw her across the room
A vision of beauty to the beholder
I was struck, instantly
By her loveliness, by her elegance
The way she held herself
I was spellbound by the image
I was physically altered by her
Was this love at first sight?
Or mere infatuation
She was really lovely
And I doubtless felt something
What I saw was a rare beauty
A precious thing
Like a work of art
Treasured on a gallery wall
A painting seen from a distance
But what I felt wasn't love
Not from the first sight of her
Desire yes, feelings of passion also yes
Want and need certainly
But real depth of love no
This comes later, after closer study
Examining the canvas
Every nuance, each brushstroke
Form, colours, composition, perspectives
Seeing beneath the beautiful façade
To find beneath the painted layers
To where true beauty resides
Only after this patient study
Can you find true depth of feeling
And claim to be in love
I NEVER EVER TOLD YOU
I fell in love with you
When you were eight, I was eight too
You had no front teeth
And you were freckled and chubby too
I loved you
But I never ever told you
I didn't love you
Because of how you looked you see
I loved you because
Of what I could see inside, deeply
I loved you
But I never ever told you
I couldn't help loving you
I loved you irresistibly
I hid my feelings
Loving you in secret and invisibly
I loved you
But I never ever told you
When you were thirteen
You changed overnight from pupae
And transformed
Magically into a beautiful butterfly
I loved you
But I never ever told you
Had the ugly duckling
Still been here today
I would have swept you up
And carried you away
I love you
But I will never ever tell you
I will keep my love locked away
But I will love you
Until my dying day
Uncanny Love Tales – (18) A Dusty Tome on the Shelf
Grace Rawlins had worked in the same bookshop for twenty years, but not one of those trendy impersonal places, O’Brien’s was a proper old-fashioned shop full of dusty well-loved secondhand books, where she started straight from school and now it was hers.
It wasn’t her chosen path, she wanted college and University and ultimately
to write books of her own.
But on the eve of her bright future, life got in the way of her plans when
firstly her father was killed aboard the RFA Sir Galahad during the Falklands
War when she was 15 and then on the day of her 16th birthday her
mother was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.
In the beginning Grace worked part time at the shop in between grieving for
her dead father and caring for her mum while also limping her way through two
years of college.
She had no siblings to share the burden and no Cousins or Aunts and Uncles
to turn to, she had to cope with it all on her own.
Then in 1984 when she finished College, she watched all her friends go off
to Uni and she went full time at O’Brien’s.
With each passing year, of days spent in the shop and evenings and weekends
caring for her mother drained the very life from her and by the time her mum
finally succumbed, Grace was as dry as the pages of the books she tended.
After the funeral, in order to fill the void, Grace gave herself totally to
the shop, which is why five years later on her death, Maureen O’Brien left the
shop to Grace.
Year by year her life consisted of the shop, book auctions and house
clearances other than that she had no human interactions outside the bookshop
so as a result, at the age of thirty six Grace was a cold grey dowdy frump.
She was not an unattractive woman behind the spectacles and the tweed suit,
if anyone chose to look that closely, but they didn’t.
When she first took over the running of it the shop was struggling to stay
afloat in a sea of apathy in which the world seemingly fell out of love with
quality literature.
She did make one concession to the modern publication by giving over one window
and a corner of the shop to new titles.
Also, over the years she developed the internet side of the business, which
she rather liked as she didn’t have to face human beings.
It wasn’t so much that she wasn’t a people person it was just they were a
constant reminder of what life might have been.
One rainy Friday afternoon in May a rather tall gaunt looking middle-aged
man in an ill-fitting raincoat entered the shop and stood dripping on the
doormat for several minutes before he ventured further, although it was 2002
the place felt much older.
Harry Edwards took no more than three steps and then stopped, he looked
around at the rows of shelves full of old musty tomes and sighed with resignation
at the enormity of the task ahead.
“Oh hell” he muttered
“Can I help?” Grace said flatly with a weak smile
“I do hope so” Harry replied brightly
“I’m looking for a leather-bound copy of “The Coral Island” by R M. Ballantyne”
“We have several copies of that” She said, “Did you have any particular
date of publication in mind?”
“Anything from the 19th century” He replied
“I have a nice clean late Victorian copy that might suit” Grace said and
went off to retrieve it.
“Here we are, 1890, red leather binding, very good condition”
“Excellent” he said handling the book “How much?”
“£150” She said without emotion
He thought she was probably overcharging him, but it was exactly what he
was looking for and it was well within his means, and it was his Uncle’s
birthday the very next day and he didn’t fancy going in search of another
bookshop in the foul weather.
Also, there was something about her that he liked behind the mannish
spectacles and frumpy tweeds, he wasn’t sure what it was but there was more to her
than the cover suggested.
“Great I’ll take it” he said
Harry Edwards had lived and worked in Brassington all his life and after
getting his Law degree he started working at his Uncle Henrys firm of
solicitors where he was now a partner.
It was fairly unexciting work involving quite a lot of conveyancing, but he
liked it.
Incidentally, Barrowman, Clarke, Braithwaite and Edwards were the executors
of Maureen O’Brien’s will.
Not that that has any relevance to the story, but it adds a certain
symmetry.
Harry was forty-five years old and had himself suffered tragedy in his
life, his father died suddenly when he was at University, his mother was struck
with early onset Alzheimer’s and was now in a care home and the previous year
he had lost his wife Celia to breast cancer, but unlike Grace he didn’t lock
himself away from the world but then he did have a network of family and
friends to draw comfort from.
On the Monday morning after a big family weekend to celebrate Uncle Henrys
seventieth birthday, Harry was feeling a little jaded and in truth was almost
relieved to get back to work for a rest.
By lunchtime however he was feeling a little more with it so as it was a
bright warm spring day and as his office was only a ten-minute walk from
O’Brien’s the notion popped into his head to pop in and tell the proprietor how
delighted his uncle had been with his gift.
He wasn’t quite sure why the notion entered his head nor where it came from,
but he still thought it a good idea.
The shop door opened, and sunlight spilled deep into the shop, Grace was at
the back cataloguing some new acquisitions while Karen and Iris, students from
Brassington Uni, were putting the new stock on the appropriate shelves.
She relied heavily on students to staff the shop as there was only her and
Graham in the shop on a permanent basis.
She had inherited Graham from Maureen’s time but now he was slowly cutting
down his hours as he headed towards retirement.
While she was cataloguing, Graham was out the back packing some books for
delivery.
She looked up from what she was doing and briefly studied the new arrival.
Grace recognized the man instantly as the person who paid over the odds for
a copy of “The Coral Island”
The ill-fitting (borrowed) raincoat of Friday had gone and he was now
sporting a well-tailored double breasted blue suit.
She had thought about him a lot over the weekend and had felt more than a
little guilty at fleecing the dripping wet untidy looking man but now she saw
him in his handmade suit that guilt melted away.
“He’s quite a handsome man though” she thought to herself, shaking her head
at such an unaccustomed thought.
He walked further into the shop and was surprised at just how big it was,
it had seemed much smaller in the gloom of Friday afternoon.
He could see there were three or four other customers milling around and a
couple of young girls stacking shelves and then he caught sight of the young
frumpy woman at the back of the shop and strode off towards her.
“Oh God he’s coming this way” she thought to herself. “He’s going to
complain about the book”
She hurriedly replaced the book she was holding and tried to slip away but
she had inadvertently trapped her foot and as she tried to extricate herself,
he was on her.
“Hello again” he said
“Oh hello” she said abandoning her escape attempt.
“I just wanted to say my Uncle loved the book” he said
“Well, that’s what we do” she responded flippantly and then inexplicably
giggled
“In fact, he was so impressed with it, he has a request” Harry said fishing
in his jacket pocket and removing a piece of note paper which he handed to
Grace.
“My Uncle collects
book from his past, they are like special memories to him”
On the paper was written The Pathfinder by James Fennimore Cooper. (Third book of the Leatherstocking Tales pentalogy)
“That shouldn’t be too much of a problem” she said “I know we don’t have
one in stock but if you come back tomorrow, I should have it”
“Excellent” Harry replied “I’ll see you tomorrow then”
“What name should I reserve it under?” Grace asked
“Harry Edwards” he replied “Miss…?”
“Rawlins” she replied “Grace Rawlins”
After he left the shop, she chastised herself for lying, she knew very well
that she had a copy of “The Pathfinder”, and it would definitely have suited.
Why on earth had she lied, what on earth had gotten into her.
As Harry walked back to the office, he had an unaccountable spring in his
step and he was actually glad she didn’t have that book in stock as it meant he
didn’t have to make an excuse to go back the next day.
On Tuesday he found the morning passed by interminably slowly in fact at
one point he thought the clock had stopped, but eventually the morning passed
and the moment the clock struck twelve he was out the door.
“I’m taking an early lunch” he said
“Ok Mr. Edwards” his PA said
He walked briskly along the street towards O’Brien’s and was surprised by
the presence of butterflies in his stomach.
“How ridiculous” he muttered to himself
Grace had been kept very busy all morning as she was alone in the shop on a
Tuesday morning, but she was well aware that lunchtime was approaching.
She had her back to the door and when she heard it open, she took a deep
breath and turned around with a smile.
“What are you looking so pleased about?” Graham asked
“Oh no reason” Grace replied “it’s just such a lovely day”
“You don’t normally smile when the sun shine’s” Graham said “come to think
of it you don’t normally smile”
“I smile” Grace said defensively
“Not often” he answered as he went to the back of the shop
“I do smile” she said to herself crossly as she turned and watched him
“I know” Harry said
Grace was speechless when she turned around and saw Harry standing there
and for a moment felt like she was fifteen again.
Before she stuttered and stammered her way through a sentence.
Harry laughed at her discomfiture before saying
“I’m sorry if I startled you”
“No, its fine, really” she said
Harry left the shop half an hour later, minus the book that he’d gone in for,
but he didn’t care, he was just pleased to have seen her again.
It was the first time since his wife’s death that he had even noticed
another woman and as he enjoyed the spring sunshine, he was blissfully unaware
just how significant that was.
Grace had told him the book wouldn’t be in until the next day and didn’t
even feel guilty for lying to him this time as it meant she would see him again,
and then she realized she’d have to give him the book eventually or he’d stop
coming anyway.
For Harry the rest
of the afternoon was spent very unproductively as he tried to reason in his
mind why he was so drawn to a dowdy young bookworm.
“Well younger than
me” he said out loud
She wasn’t even
his type at all, and she had cheated him on that copy of “The Coral Island”.
The next day Harry
couldn’t make it to the shop as he was at the magistrate’s courts in the
morning and had two funerals in the afternoon.
Grace however was
unaware of the reason for his failure to appear and thought herself a fool and
chastised herself for lowering her guard, she didn’t smile at all that day.
On Thursday
morning Harry left his office about 10 o’clock and ran through the rain in his
borrowed ill-fitting raincoat to the shop.
He had not
mentioned his movements the last time he was in the shop and had no reason to
think his absence would be noticed, but strangely it meant something to him
that he had missed seeing her.
At O’Brien’s,
Karen, Iris and Graham were bemoaning the return of the unsmiling Grace who had
awoken that morning with fresh resolve to return her life back to its previous
unadventurous course and not allow herself to be disappointed again.
Having reached the
shop Harry just stood outside and stared at the rain-streaked windows wondering
what the hell he was thinking.
Why would this
young woman see him as anything more than just another customer?
“You’re being
ridiculous” he said to himself and turned around and started back towards work,
but he only took a few paces before he stopped and returned to the shop.
He stood again
looking at the shop and taking a deep breath he said
“Nothing ventured
nothing gained” and pushed open the door
Grace was feeling
wretched and made everyone’s morning miserable.
She had placed the
copy of “The Pathfinder” by the till and resolved that should he come in again
she would give him the book and that would be an end to it, after all he was
just another customer.
Grace sighed and
headed towards the back of the shop, Karen and Iris kept their heads down as
she passed them and when Graham appeared from the storeroom and saw her coming
his way he performed an immediate U-turn, then she heard the door open behind
her and she sighed again and prepared to deliver a withering look upon the
person responsible for the intrusion.
“Harry” she said
when she saw him and instantly her sternness melted away “um Mr. Edwards I
mean”
“No please Harry
is fine” he replied and returned her smile
“I have your book”
Grace said producing it like an exhibit in a court case.
“Oh great” he said
“I’m only sorry I couldn’t come in for it yesterday Miss Rawlins”
“Please call me
Grace,” she said coyly
He then went on to
explain in depth all the ins and outs of his previous day and why he hadn’t
come to the shop.
All this was done
in her inner sanctum over a mug of coffee.
“She’s never had a
guest in her office before” Iris whispered as she and Karen listened through
the door.
“And she’s
laughing” Karen said in disbelief
An hour after he arrived,
he left the shop and walked back towards his office with the book tucked under
his arm and more importantly than that a date with Grace for the following
evening.
So, it was on a
bright Friday evening just one week after his first rain-soaked visit that he
walked into O’Brien’s bookshop and found the dusty tome that was Grace Rawlins
had been rebound and the dowdy bookish young woman was transformed.
Harry took her
hand and led her from the shop, and she stepped out from the narrow confines of
her stale and musty domain and rejoined the world of infinite possibilities
with her heart full of hope and not a little trepidation.
It was now her
turn to live life rather than reading about other peoples.
Monday, 5 April 2021
ABOVE A MOONLIT MEADOW
Above a moonlit meadow
The
stars begin to shine
As
I plight my troth in earnest
And
hope to make you mine
MY HISTORY IS ONE OF SADNESS
My history is one of sadness
Lonely
and loveless
No
memories of joy to comfort
Only
the emptiness
Of
a life spent alone
Like
Robinson Crusoe
On
his desert island
I
sit surround by the ocean
Inhospitable
and deep
In
my life the ocean is the world
The
blue water
Its
inhabitants
Washing
up to my shore
But
always washing away again
Tantalizing
and teasing
But
I cannot embrace the waves
I
must remain alone
On
my desert island
Looking
out to sea
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