The Riddle Of The Sands

           From the mist curled in the foothills of the dunes came a golden camel expectorating bile, willing to share the 'Riddle of the Sands' for a share of the fireside. He slowed in the security of heat, orb like eyes flaring luminous in the glow of the flames and casting long shadows into the deeper nights cloak.

           “The Mighty Caliban was created and destroyed by the Great Jinn of this desert. People are sometimes fooled by the Jinn’s disguises, but, yes, he was great. To begin he had one unbroken foot and for security he did not use the other foot but walked about on his elbows across the sand dragging his form behind him like a snake, following the ripples of the dunes.

            The Jinn was angered by Caliban's desire for power so cursed him, imprisoning him in the stays of a wasp's carapace. Still hungry for power Caliban sought to dominate the beasts of the earth, buzzing angrily about them and threatening them with a flash of his black and yellow body and his far reaching poisonous sting. He aggressively preyed on all those who could not defend themselves, until that is he caught and tore his wing on a thorn. He spiralled down to the hot desert sand and there was no escape from the burning heat. He floundered on the earth at the mercy of all, unable to escape into the security of the sky. It was then that he met the King of Tiny Things, golden wings glinting in the sunlight, a cloak of azure blue covering his broken foot.

            "I am watching you closer than you think, oh transposed Caliban. I have seen how your desire to dominate is undiminished by your current size. I think I should call upon the Tempest to teach you a lesson. He is always keen to give someone a hiding!”

But still blinded by arrogance and conceit Caliban did not realise he was addressing the Great Jinn in disguise.

            "You have no power over me you insignificant gnat, I am the great Caliban" he sang out. Seeing that Caliban had failed to learn his lesson, without further words or delay, the King of Tiny Things flicked his iridescent wings and turned the unworthy Caliban into a louse. Caliban was so ashamed of his new form that he curled up and hid so perfectly within his body that he was impossible to discover. He crawled into the sand and overtime calcified, only then revealing that there was indeed some beauty within. 

Worlds Within Worlds

The carved spheres spin in the heavens, worlds within worlds, spheres within spheres, coherent yet separate. The first is made of jade. A king and a queen move between the dragon’s claws. She wears a jade hair comb decorated with a golden harp, he a jade pendant. They share together the gift of uninterrupted time and dance within a ring of ancestral names lined with rows of forget-me-nots bordered by the colosseum.

On the second sphere a maiden glances to the atmosphere above, praying to unknown gods, worrying at a necklace of musical notes hung on a thread of pure light. She hopes. She prays. But her heart is as brittle as a glass bauble. She picks at the bunch of daisies; he loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not. There is no certainty in her life and all that she knows is that everything is fresher after the rain.

“Dear gods have mercy and bring my love home safe,” she pleads, and yet with her next breath tumbles the thought, “or shall I take the journey into my own hands and dictate my fate. Surely every journey starts with a single step.” And thus she turns and turns again; a sphere inside a sphere, a world within a world.

The third sphere is made of earth and rock and sponge and sea. It hangs at the centre of it all, a beating heart. a keepsake locket containing a catalogue of memories and scars, and the people here know how to savour time. They live their lives with their backs to the sun. Toil and treasure go hand in hand for hard work and diligence bring their own merit. Holding up their tools, be it spade or spatula and hold it with patience. Time only flows one way and soon they will dance in Elysium’s colosseum with the gods, surrounded by forget-me-nots and the echoes of their life’s deeds will echoes through eternity.

Bound On A Bumper Car Sea - A Pantoum

Where the sand meets the sea's new horizons

The steam billows forth its curse.

A dogma of godliness rolls by

Dreaming it all in reverse.

The steam billows forth its curse

"What kind of fool are you,

Dreaming it all in reverse,

Scrubbing away constellations true?"

"What kind of fool are you

Wading into moonlit seas

Scrubbing away constellations true?

A uniqueness of blemishes, a Venus?"

Wading into moonlit seas

They met at a pumpkin spice fairground.

A uniqueness of blemishes, A Venus

And her pirate aficionado run aground.

They met at a pumpkin spice fairground

Bound on a bumper car sea

And her pirate aficianado run aground,

He bade her, "Come, Sail with me."

Bound on a bumper car sea

The salt of promise entwined them.

He bade her, "Come, sail with me

Through this land of fish and men."

The salt of promise entwined them.

The bloated goldfish found them.

Through this land of fish and men,

Through a night of fine food to bind them.

The bloated goldfish found them

And sat they with sunflowers gold

Through a night of fine food to bind them

They did banish their solitary cold.

And sat they with sunflowers gold'

With crisp bread and seafood delight

They did banish their solitary cold

With passion fruit brulee tonight.

With crisp bread and seafood delight

She sat and drank in his flavours.

With passion fruit brulee tonight

All her constellations were savoured.

She sat and drank in his flavours,

They sailed to new lands, on and on.

All her constellations were savoured

Where the sand meets the sea's new horizon

Leaving By The Back Door

Deep sleep inhabits a world she has been refused access to.  Exhaustion jeers at her from his dark corner mocking her fitful rest. Traumatised by the twin gargoyles of pain and confusion Daphne feels like a prisoner in her own living room. She is trapped by ME and by her arthritis. Her only escape is in memory.

Titania rains kisses on the skipping child she had been; a changeling child, adored nonetheless by a doting Mother. They had roamed together through her childhood hunting faeries in the meadow,vaulting gates into bucolic bliss, waging a personal revolution against any farmer who insisted that trespassers would be prosecuted.Blow that. Blow it all. All cares were thrown to the wind like the fluff of dandelion clocks.

These memories of smiles and faded sunshine gave her courage to face what she must; the squid-like tentacles waging war on her senses that were always greedy for more; the game of patience she played with the dark nights always waiting for the dawn.  The Doctor told her she had not long, apologised for bringing her the bad news about her weakened heart. Did he not understand what a relief that was to her. He had handed her a shining light at the end of a long dark tunnel. The tunnel took form in her minds eye, a tunnel of trees, leaves greening the light, catkin tassels hanging like skeins of silk and branches filtering sunlight. And between the birdsong echoed about she caught snatches of her own sweet love’s laughter. He was waiting for her there, in the clearing. Together they would dace again into a new adventure. Her spirit would lift with the breeze and the warmth of the sun would shine its honey to her core.

So there she sat, in her cosy burrow. Daphne, 83, in her wing back chair, with a smile of contentment etched on her face as life finally slipped away through the back door of memory.

Letters of no Consequence

Maybury Court

Tuesday April 16th

Dearest Constance,

The year is rocking on its hinges as I write this. Fingers of winter trees are bursting into fanned new leaves. Life in the Chiltern woods is very much as it ever was, as dear to me as the freckles on your nose. I could not bear to part with its verdant lush as you have in exchange for the veldt and all its drama, flaming sun and red dust. I will not be moved. If there is chaos here (and there is, of sorts) I’ll be bound to it until my last breath. I could call nowhere else home. Not even if Teddy begged me.

He loves me Constance and has asked me to be his; to go with him to India. But I cannot. You are the one with far reaching horizons, I, I am the cricket on the hearth. And as needs must every home should have one for who would take care of Father and Mother.  They are wearied by the weight of responsibility now in keeping the Estate in good  order, and more often than not I am called to take an interest in these matters.  I am quite sure Mother would not have managed the New Year Hunt this year or indeed the  feast on StValentine’s without me. No, I know my mind on this, even though I am unmade by what I do. Oh how I miss your counsel. But it is done. My heart will go with him folded safely like a picture in a locket and he will hear it beat for him any time he cares to hear it. And I? I will be held in stasis until his return. And there’s the rub, the sand -paper over my sleepless eyes, for I am given over to trust. Trust that the miles between us will melt with fondness, that the river of affection will not be diluted by the seas between us. We shall perhaps be  permitted to share tender words  and that love will blossom away from the eyes of a chaperone! Tender words; the endearments permitted by distance. But it is all dark until his return and certainty. Three long years Constance. How will I bear it? What if his commission is renewed? What if he meets some other lacy cloud in the maddening heat and looses his head?  (See how I daily torture myself! Oh for your presence to distract me with games and laughter! ) No. I must believe in his good heart and his honourable nature even if I cannot trust my good fortune in love. He is mine and I am his and that is the way it must be. (And if it is not to be; well there is always the stream rushing down the hills! I will be swallowed by the iron water of the plunge pool and you can leave me to the faeries keep! -Do you remember the summers we shared in the woods, dear Constance, making marquees for faery teas and thrones of moss for Titania and Oberon? What innocence we shared. I miss its simplicity sometimes.)

Mother sends you her warmest wishes from where she sits bent double over her needle point at the french windows. Really her eye sight is very poor now but she is determined to finish the new kneelers for the family pew.The new planting in the garden is going to be lovely this summer and I know the floral abundance will give her great pleasure for the smell as much as the colour- peony stalks are beginning to show their red flutes above the earth and the wisteria is greening up nicely. We have replanted the cut flower garden with cottage plants and  the roses have been treated to Bartholomew’s best from the farm. (It is necessary for the French doors to remain closed for a time while the smell disperses!) Barrow is having terrible trouble with the rabbits this year who seem to have tunnelled  under the wall of the vegetable garden and have taken all the tops from the spring greens.  Father best not catch them or I fancy they will be in the pot. He was not best pleased. You can imagine it I’m sure, all those nibbled tops “How can I enter the Village show with nibbled tops!” He was livid!

I look forward to hearing your news dear Constance though I fear the delivery of your letters must be a treacherous business but they are waited for with great anticipation and give us much fresh conversation. We loved your description, last, of the women in the village. We wish you well and some relief from the heat and dust. Keep the faith, the rains will come.

With all my love to you,

Patience, your own dear heart.

Floris  Station

Nmbegwe

June 30th

Patience, my dearest heart,

Your letters reach me like a thank you to be treasured, a way to reach back into a past that seems so far removed from life here. They bring the scent of paper roses and summer meadows, of petrichor and lavender evenings on the terrace.  What ever our circumstances in life I hope we will always be able to communicate over what ever geographical distance lies between us. I see your tiny even hand on the envelope and the kisses around your penny stamp and my heart sings with joy at the thought of news from home and of you my dear sweet Patience.

Have Courage dear Sister. Teddy is yours as surely as the sun burns in the sky and he will return for you when his duty is despatched. It is not easy for a second son to find his place in the world and so it must be earned. If the cost of such a place is a mere three years allow your love to deepen, taking root in the rich soil of home and think instead of all the years left for you to share together.

There is news here my dear that I would so wish to share with you in my arms. I am with child! I suffered for some weeks with what I thought was heat sickness but as my corsets became tighter on the simple diet we have here there was no other explanation. I am as round as a cider barrel ! We expect it will be an early Autumn baby. I so wish you were here to share this with me. My body feels so strange and heavy and I fear for what lies ahead and would have you near me to hold my hand but know this cannot be. But do not fret for me,Arthur is clucking around me like a mother hen and has engaged a house matron, Gaia, a mother of five, from the village so I am not alone when he goes out.  She is kindly and looks at me with a blaze of knowing as I heave myself about. When the time comes she will be a great comfort I’m sure. She was very cross with me a few weeks ago as she saw me tightening my stays. She marched up to me waggling her finger, orating animatedly then promptly pulled away my corsets and marched off with them.  I can’t find them anywhere.  I’ve tried to ask, sort of mimed it to her (like charades at Christmas) but she looks away and just smiles and shrugs.  I’m sure she is hiding them.  I told Arthur that Gaia had stolen them from me and he just laughed at me. “Good.” That was all he said.  But later he showed me just how good it could be. There is great advantage in being more freely accessible, I discovered, as we sat on the verandah under the stars! You would be shocked I am sure. I feel I am turning into quite a harlot without the steadying hand of  Mrs Bryce! (And loving it; being Queen of the Night for the man I adore. How lucky we are to have the freedom to wallow in our passion.) I am going native!

There has been quite a to do here actually.  I shouldn’t besmirch the natives as they have a very strict moral code of their own, for all their lack of clothing. A moonlighting entertainer from a neighbouring village came here and made advances on the chief’s daughter.  She is now being shunned by the village for losing her purity without first being married. She ran away and Arthur found her alone on the road and weak with thirst so she too is living with us. I never dreamt we would have so many servants- a garden boy, watchman, house matron and now a kitchen maid too. Gaia looks at her with suspicion but she is only to aware of how hard life is for women here when they lose there place in the community. Arthur tells me Gaia’s husband challenged the chief and lost his life in doing so, as well as her place in the community. Her daughters were already wed but are forbidden to speak with her and the sons have had to move away.

The rains did come dear Patience, after weeks of oppressive humidity and violent electrical storms. The lightning seemed to thread the whole sky with life.And you would not believe the transformation; from dust bowl to new Eden in a matter of days. Grasses sway and flowers bloom and water glints in the sun snaking it’s way across the veldt. I begin to understand why Arthur loves it so. Somehow the beauty is all the more precious for being rare. 

The rain has made passage into the town very tiresome though and I do not know when Arthur will be able to go and take this to post, but I will telegram when the baby arrives. Maybe the telegram will reach you first. But know that the wind carries my love to you and the sun that kisses your face kisses mine also so we are never really so far apart as all that.

Blessings to you dearest heart,

Constance.