my writings
Fossils
Pieces of the past
float
in and out
of view.
Captured moments.
Etched in time.
The story,
once full of life,
now fossilised,
frozen in a retelling.
Deep furrows
in a well-worn floor,
destined to be
repeated,
without relent.
Fragments of colour,
cerulean blue tinged
with burnt umbre,
drift to the surface.
Vivid as the moment
they were captured.
A small tender hand.
Auburn tresses
whipped by the wind.
A stone carpet
bordered by greenery.
Golden rays
caressing the skin.
On their own,
merely pieces of fancy,
buried,
echoes of what once was.
Yet,
in their collective call,
they hint at
cherished moments
from a bygone era
Fragments
For too long,
her days had been filled
with dust storms crawling
across the hills,
a trail of fine powder,
deep ochre in colour,
wherever it passed.
And her nights,
those nights, lying abed,
awake.
Betrayed by that last
cup of coffee.
The hallway clock
guarding time,
hands at a standstill.
Waiting for the dawn to break.
The chill in the air,
warranting a worn jumper
thrown over the shoulders,
had failed to act as a signal.
The lullaby chorus
crooning in the back paddock
was strangely silent.
Intent on pegging out the washing,
a motley assortment of Frank’s old shirts
and the flotsam
buried deep
at the bottom of the basket.
She was caught
by surprise by the large droplets
exploding
round her battered boots.
Turning over her palm,
she marvelled at its strange beauty.
Breathing in the heady mix-
menthol and honey.
She had flung back her head,
gulping to taste
the bittersweet
fragments of
new life.