Author Archives: Liz Terry
This blog ends today, 31st December 2013. Sadly, I have not been well enough to complete it as I would have wished, which is a real shame. I have been in hospital recovering from a severe kidney infection which very … Continue reading
Unfortunately Liz is in hospital with a serious illness. She will be very upset when she is well enough to remember that she got so close to completing 365 days. Thank you for supporting her, and I am sure she … Continue reading
She bustles cheerfully around the room, shoes clicking softly on the lino floor. Deftly, she transfers samples into bottles and labels them. She invites complete trust; she knows her job well.
It sweeps in silently on the wind. A sudden sheet of rain is thrown at the window, rattling like gravel on windows and roofs. As quickly as it arrives, it disappears.
Golden tresses wave in the pale sunlight. Fire colours flicker – red, yellow, orange. Leaves slowly burning, their tiny flames fanned by the bitter winter wind.
Stripy top and skinny jeans, slim white cigarette held tightly between her long fingers. The yellowed lines around her mouth show a lifetime of slavery to this deadly addiction.
The same faces, hair and even glasses mark them out as special. One wears bright red trousers and a fleece with green stars; the other pale green trousers and pink love hearts. Different souls reside within these identical bodies.
It sits in the valley like condensed milk, heavy and sticky in the cold morning air. Views disappear as if by magic, a whitewashed wall in their place.
Branches stripped bare reveal its black shadow against the pale grey sky. A Spring-built, careful little bundle of sticks, moss and hope. Now it hangs abandoned, its usefulness spent, waiting for its time to come again.
Twinkling and multi-coloured, they fill the living room window. Illuminating the darkness of these short days, a small square of merriness piercing the gloom.