Thoughts from Charmouth Beach, Dorset.

Who are you spending Christmas with ? Where are you going for Christmas ? Two supposedly innocent questions heard so frequently in the air yet for some fraught with mixed emotions.  So many people travelling to people they don't love and cherish, too many people left alone to feel the pain of having no-one to care. Where's the goodwill ? the compassion ? the love ? It costs absolutely nothing to give any of those to a complete stranger and this is the time of year when you should. Focus on sharing, contemplate on giving rather than receiving. What you gain is something far greater than you can imagine.

As it creeps to the end of the year it's easy to remember and dwell on the darker moments of the past twelve months. Don't bother. View them from afar and learn from them to become stronger. Forgive those people who sought to undermine you and drag you down and celebrate new people who have entered your life and enriched your soul.

And spare a moment or two to remember fondly people you have lost or you can no longer easily embrace. They are with you.

What are you doing in my garden,

Is it you, I’m not quite sure,

Haven’t you heard,

I don’t live here anymore.

Is it the way you bend to admire the lilies,

Run your fingers along the wall,

Gaze upwards at the hollyhocks,

Standing so proud and tall.

I can tell by your posture,

And your gentle smile,

Tranquility surrounds you,

Although its been awhile.

I’m hovering quite quietly,

Over by the wrought iron gate,

I feel overjoyed to see you,

Although for you it is too late.

Soak up the beauty of my garden,

Feel my love within,

I’m sorry you didn’t come sooner,

Where would I begin ?

You look forlorn and lost now,

The flowers no longer hold you with their spell,

Stay awhile however,

On the past do not dwell.

Come back in the winter,

When the frost is all around,

The flowers have gently gone to sleep,

So peaceful, no sound.

What beckons you to my garden,

Do you sense me on the air,

Turn around now and smile at me,

Death is so untimely and unfair.

I can’t reach out to touch you,

Feel your breath upon my cheek,

Say all the things I felt for you,

For I cannot speak.

What are you doing in my garden,

I can no longer tell,

Is it that you are still captivated,

Bound fast by its spell ?                         ©sallytownsend