I prayed.


I gave.


I tried.


I cried.’

She scribbled the words down in a fit of apathy. Not sleeping, not eating, not sure if she was feeling much anymore. The only motion she could muster was this fluttering of blue ink.

The pen left her finger tips and rolled down the side of her bed.

The moment was coming and it had all seemed in vain.

84 years… it felt like it had only been 23.

Cheated by her own breath, she began her return to the place from which she came.

The Daily Post Writing Challenge: Digging for Roots



Is it beautiful or ugly, or so ugly that beauty is all that could remain? DSC_0037 The creeping vines of the plant wrap tiny fronds of their substance around and around and around the stalks of the other plants, slowly thickening in their numbers and increasingly tightening their hold. The insane flowers burst out of numerous buds, so overt in their colours, showing a blatantly unfragrant disrespect for any simplicity. It pervades, it creeps, it crawls. You can not avoid being mesmerised by it as it strangles its hold. What is this part of nature? Is this not alien, foreign, malignant to our natural world? This cancer, this intriguing growth that stops for no soul on its path? But this plant is Nature herself, being that which she was created to be. Our pristine, sanitised, perfect version of our world is so askew from the complex reality. Nature kills, tortures and maims… leaving broken hearts, suffering and pain. Death wipes out life after life, with no empathy or conciliation for what is left behind. Even the birth of a child rips and tears flesh away. What is this part of our nature within which we seem destined to remain? DSC_0047   the perils of wondering around the backyard with a camera…