she worked underground

I spent the afternoon reading through old notebooks filled with pieces I’ve written. Some were finished stories, others concepts or impressions from what was going on in my life. I found many “mindful” thoughts, chronicles of trips, lists of words and disconnected sentences. It was quite fascinating; like a time capsule of events all noted on paper.

I plan to start sharing some of these partial works. My intention is that something in them will resonate with someone.

She worked underground. It was better than working above. Daylight exposed things and cast shadows of doubt. Scars and pain, hidden in the earth were revealed.

Daily donning the garb of a miner, she gripped her pick axe to toil in darkness; striking each rock with a solid blow. Emerging at dusk, she was loose to roam the quiet streets.

Covered in grit, she was not a sight to turn heads. Her one atoning feature was the unconventional necklace hung from her ivory neck. People rarely got a glimpse of it as it remained tucked softly under the ragged flannel.

The filigree laced with stones was her reminder. In a former time, she had been more than a person grubbing out an existence in the belly of the earth.

Arriving at her nondescript flat, she shed the outward attire that now defined her; dirt-caked nails and hair matted to her head in the shape of a helmet.

But there, dangling on her chest was the promise. She clutched it, her life depended on what it symbolized – hope. She stood for a time; long shadows fell across the room in the form of a cross. A faint smile lit her face.

Nevertheless, tomorrow she would return to the underground.

Working above ground, today -

Missy

If you have been mildly amused, challenged or inspired by what you have read, please pass on my blog to a friend, colleague, family member or even random acquaintance

Comments

urban girl in the country

green in concrete For the last lot-of-years I’ve lived in urban areas. I’ve become a city girl with hints of a flower child mixed with hipster nuances…translated I like to wear skinny jeans. This is the total opposite of how I grew up, which was on a farm. My paternal grandparents grew, raised, caught and hunted for everything they ate – radical organic, free-range stuff. On my Mom’s side of the fam tree, there were green grocers and orchard growers. Heck, I was in 4-H raising feeder calves and a small flock of wooly sheep. Gardens, canning, freezing and preserving everything was the ordinary. I carried on the gardening-preserving, saving the spoils piece, until I found myself in fresh veggie-at-a-farmer’s-market heaven! The foreign city I found myself in had a temperate climate where fruit and vegetables could be grown year ‘round, and … it was sold at a giant open air market every week. Yippee! I no longer needed to ...

are you strong enough to do it together?

reflecting - paulina lake, october 2015 Weekend getaways are all about kicking back and well, getting away from the entire buzz of life. Caffeine excluded from this statement. Somewhere around noon of day two’s whatever we want to do schedule, my baby and I decided to hike around the lake that we’d been watching transform before our eyes. The distance was seven and a half miles according to the sign. That sounded totally do-able. Especially since yesterday we had ventured out on two shorter hikes that amounted to six or so miles. Besides, we’d walked a small part of the trail; it seemed like a pretty comfortable walk by the lake. First glances can be deceiving. Now, in all fairness to avid outdoors people, it probably was easy peasy. But to this urban girl, who only a few years ago had given up her love of walking due to not pleasant back pain from nerves having their life squeezed out; this hike was of larger-than-life proporti...

Parking on the verge

Sort of parked on the verge...at least it's mostly grass Living in Australia taught me many earth shattering things, like beets are called beetroot, but carrots are not called carrotroot. You “ring” when you are phoning someone and to “call” is actually to stop by. You can understand my American confusion at some of the Aussie ways and vernacular. Fortunately, we had great friends that kept us straight on proper protocol in this once penal colony. Terminology tweaks set aside, there was the whole driving on the left side of the road. What’s up with that? Is it because they are on the other side of the world or just trying to be oh, so British? I must admit, I never did relaxed when cars were careening toward me from the “wrong” lane. Now, that we’re on the subject of cars, it is perfectly natural to park in the verge. To be honest, I didn’t know what a “verge” was. Oh, I knew the word as in “edge or limit” but i...

Isabella Bird Miscellany

Search This Blog