Just a piece of art journaling I did many moons ago (pardon the pun!) and thought that it really goes well and complements with the story I wrote below.
Originally I used to upload all my art and art journals on this blog, and may do so again if they fit in with the topic of my posts.
Moods, everyone has them. She has them often. She isn’t a moody, person just a person who has lots of moods – all different ones that appear when she’s least expecting them, and leave like unwelcome visitors usually as fast and for no reason. ‘Silent night holy night, all is calm all is bright accepting that she’s feeling neither calm nor bright her small courtyard beckons. The day had been almost impossibly hot, and in her small room starved of oxygen, she felt like a fish struggling for breath, once outside she gulps in the cool evening air.
‘Have yourself a merry little Christmas’, the silly tune jingles around in her head on repeat since almost before Christmas. Trite tunes that surface just when you need to clear your head most.
She kicks off her shoes and sits at a small table. Sitting in the garden at night is one of her joys. Everything out here is calm and bright tonight the wind is quiet and nothing moves.
She lights a candle. Amber rose is the name of the scent, written on a red gaudy label in large gold script. It was a gift from a work colleague. But she doesn’t want to think about work right now, selective amnesia suits her just fine.
Her therapist told her to write all her thoughts down, good ones, bad ones, especially the scary ones, she told her to let them out like tigers out of a cage, and into the silence of the white notebook. Only the notebook could hold them still between its grey lines that held fast like the bars on a cage.
The flame burns strong and releases a pleasant scent. She stares into the steady candlelight but Nothing comes. On this hot sultry evening, even her inspiration has all but dried up and gone. The moon is bright she notes – its cool silvery light outlines the garden with a silvery pen.
Somewhere a thousand miles away its snowing.
‘From now on your troubles will be miles away’, and with that thought the pages of her journal come to life as and she takes her pen filled with feelings and transfers them neatly onto the lines of the page.
‘Let your heart be light’. All spent, she returns to bed and smooths down the waves of damp sheets into a creaseless sea of white and rests her weary head.