mo spás aisling

Iris stretched her legs out under her desk and glanced at the clock. Finally lunch time. Stepping outside, she threw her jacket over her shoulders and, heart hammering, approached the coffee cart where she saw Louie was working.

“Hey Ms. Long Black, just the usual today?”. Louie’s green eyes crinkled in the corners with amusement.

“Yes thanks”. She couldn’t help grinning ridiculously. “And what are your plans this dismal autumn day?”. He fumbled around with the coffee grinder and began making her drink. “I think I’ll head to the park for a walk, I really need to stretch the legs”.

“Well, I’m due a break if you’d like company?”. Louie put the lid on the cup and passed it across to her. “Sure, that’d be nice”. Iris began to feel nervous. He always had this effect on her, yet they’d done this a dozen times before. Louie made himself an espresso and climbed out of the cart, leaving his co-worker in charge.

They crossed the road and headed down the track towards the gardens. The noise of the traffic behind them grew quiet as they walked in a companionable silence.

“So, have you had much thought about our last talk?” he broached the subject first. Iris took a deep sip of her coffee as she remembered it. “Mmm, good” she smiled awkwardly. ”...Yeah, I’ve thought about it a lot.” She loved being in his company, but when the talk got serious she always seemed to clam up, dammit. Iris glanced about her, there was no one about. Ducks gathered nearby, waiting to have a bread crust thrown their way. There was no breeze; the trees stood still and the air was dense. Thick grey clouds hung heavy in the sky. Earthquake weather they call it. It felt so eerie - like something was about to happen. 

Louie took her hand.

“I want this; I really enjoy spending time with you it’s just that first I have to...” Iris didn’t finish her sentence; the ducks flew off suddenly, all in different directions, their wings flapping with panic. 

His lips, when they move, release words of intelligence, intrigue, humour and interest. Words that charm.

Lips that caress, taste, entice and tease.

When they touch mine it is gentle, tender as a floating feather in the breeze.

Lips that curl up at the corners and meet his eyes in a smile that steals the breath from me.

His eyes, the deep grey-blue of a still lake on a cold winters day.

Mysterious pools that captivate, that drive you to dive to the depths of his beautiful mind.

I can hold my breath and float for as long as it takes to reach it.

There is a beautiful track that takes you up and along the hillside. The path is sheltered with native trees and bush, and it is more peaceful than you could imagine. The track climbs steeply up the side, to the first landing; and at this point, if it is a clear day, you have a stunning view that spans over the city of Glynn. Nearby there is a meadow with fig trees and you might notice a flock of sheep meditatively chewing the grass, with their lambs calling out close by. At the top you will find the track winding along the ridge, making its way from the clearing all the way across to a small village; then past the village and the woods, magnificent mountains rise up; and further out still, lies the expanse of the Great Lake.

The hillside is clad with native bush, one could not just stride through. It provides a haven for birds, and they safely flit about, feasting on the bounty nature produces. The track is well-kept, and the soil is not overrun with visitors; temperatures do not get too high, drying out the land. Appreciate the beauty of the landscape, for nature is a gift not eternal, given to us by our Maker. Treasure it, protect it, look after it, as it in turn treasures you, protects you, looks after you. Fail in this and you have failed in yourself.

But 20 years from now the track is gone. The bush has overgrown, is dry and wild with weeds, you cannot recognise it. For it is tangled with vines and unkempt; it is no longer safe for birds, and there is no feeling of life. Too many people had visited, too many hot and dry summers. There is no beauty left to appreciate, for it has dried up and gone. It has been taken back by its giver. It is not treasured, or protected, nor looked after, and no longer does it treasure you, protect you, or look after you. There are no lambs that call out to their mothers here.

The village lies deserted, the abandoned houses have deteriorated as though ridden with disease. The scorching sun glares over the land, reaches its claws of hot rays up the hills, the last of the Great Lake is sucked dry, and gives life to what little remains of the trees.

Rosa sat in her car staring up at her grandparent’s majestic old house. She hadn’t been here in years – not since her parents packed her siblings and herself up, cutting their holiday short and whisking them home without a goodbye – yet it still seemed as huge and mysterious as ever. She glanced at the passenger seat; her grandmother’s funeral service programme from last week sat there, and a letter from Mr Crowther’s law firm confirming the date, time and meeting place to read her grandmothers will.

With a sigh, she thought back to her childhood days spent here in the huge house with her brother and sister. She hadn’t seen them in a while now; they didn’t show up to the funeral and neither of them had got back to her to her when she’d contacted them to see if they would be here today. It was odd, almost as if they were avoiding something or someone. Her heart started pounding - she didn’t want to leave the familiarity of her car, she wanted to turn around and head home, to her cosy apartment, to what she knew. You can do this Rosa, she told herself, just breathe... as she got out of her car she noticed a vehicle coming up the driveway. A man a few years older than her, tall, with dark brown hair, opened his door and stepped out confidently. She vaguely remembered seeing him at the funeral, but he had made no effort to approach her then. Rosa wondered who he was and she grabbed her things from the seat and closed her car door. “Hi there, so you must be Rosa?” He looked her up and down, making her feel like she was being assessed. Alright...now you want to talk to me... “Nice to meet you.” Rosa smiled and shook his hand hesitantly. “My name’s Mark. I’ve heard a lot about you, come in. Mr Crowther will be in the office already.” He was here for the will reading? Perhaps he was a distant relative.

Nothing had changed. The house still smelled the same - like old books and dried flowers. The familiarity brought tears to her eyes; it didn’t feel the same without her grandparents here. “Isn’t it a stunner of a house?” Mark asked as he saw her expression. “I’ve been doing a lot of work on this beauty lately.” Maybe he’s an employee here, Rosa thought. That made more sense. But why would her grandmother leave him anything? “I started with the yards outside, getting the garden looking tidy, and I’ve just managed to start inside. It’s just not the same since your grandmother passed away. I do miss her.” Mark was looking around with so much pride; and Rosa felt a stab of jealousy. This was her grandparent’s house. Who was this man, to look around as if it was his place? Like clockwork inside Rosa’s mind things started falling into place.  Mark. The gardener. This was the man her grandmother had constantly talked about. The man she kept wanting Rosa to meet! What a pity Rosa had always been deadset against the idea. Forever dubbing him in her mind as “The Grubby Gardener”, she’d conjured up images of a smelly country man with no teeth and holes in his clothes. Well, he certainly wasn’t that...quite the opposite, and he was definitely not grubby to look at. Rosa took a deep breath and pushed aside her thoughts and feelings. “Yeah, it’s looking great, exactly how I remember it. It’s so nice to be back here.” She couldn’t wait to get away from him and turned quickly to go towards the kitchen. “Well, you really should head up to the office don’t you think? You can look around after. The lawyer will be waiting for us already.” He motioned up the stairs where her grandfather’s office was. Rosa stopped. Did he just tell her what to do? “Come on, I’m just as curious as you are!” He made his way up the stairs, leaving Rosa staring up at him. She didn’t know what it was, but there was just something about him that made her feel confused and uncomfortable.

Rosa wandered up the stairs and reached the first landing. Pausing, she stared out the large window overlooking the property; she remembered playing out there with her brother and sister when they were little. So many fun memories cut short by her parent’s selfishness. Whatever happened all those years ago? The office door was ajar and she could hear Mark talking to the lawyer, Edward Crowther. “Yes, I’ve done quite a bit of work to the place. Started with the outside, got it looking tidy and...” She entered the office and Mark stopped talking, looking at her as if she had rudely interrupted him. Rosa felt her cheeks flush in annoyance. “Rosa, lovely to see you again my dear.” Mr. Crowther got up to greet her. She’d always thought he was a strange looking fellow; very tall and lanky with such bright blue eyes for his old age. “Take a seat; let’s have a look at what our dear Rosemary has to say”.  He chuckled and eased himself into the seat behind the desk. “Mr. Crowther, is it just us here, now, that are attending today? Nobody else?” It just seemed so odd. “Yes just yourselves. Help yourself to some tea, dear.” “Thank you”. Rosa poured herself a cup, sitting down opposite Mr. Crowther. Mark sat in the chair next to her, tapping his thumb impatiently on the arm of the leather seat. Rosa’s fingers tightened on the cup handle and she took a sip. “Here’s a copy of the documentation. “ He handed one to each of them. “Have a read and let me know if you’ve got any questions.” She took her copy of the will and scanned it quickly. She saw her name, halfway down the page. It certainly wasn’t what she was expecting:

I DEVISE, BEQUEATH AND GIVE MY ENTIRE ESTATE TO Rosemary Kathleen Bolton, “My granddaughter, I have always been so grateful for your continuous correspondence, despite all that has happened. Please know that you are and always have been very dear to my heart.”

AND

Mark Vernon Bradley “My trusted and helpful friend. Please finish what you have started and live your dream.”

That bitter sweet smell of jet fuel. It is the smell of goodbye. Of heartache and tears, released and held back. Of feelings declared or left unsaid, Of memories and longing, the wanting to stay.

It is bitter

And it is the smell of adventure. Of new beginnings, of the unknown, The promise of flight, of defying nature and gravity and soaring in the clouds. It holds discovery, excitement and fear at once.

It is sweet.

France

Earlier in the year (2014), I did it. I went on my big OE with my sister and cousin and we travelled overseas.

The whole experience was just incredible and I constantly yearn to go back.

One of the things I think back on that makes me laugh every single time, was when we were on the train in France, leaving Paris to travel up north.

We had laboriously traipsed with our huge packs on our backs to the station, trying to locate our gate and ensure we were on the correct train. My large green pack was the worst and most embarrassing, it being far too big for my short self. I resembled a turtle and, with the weight of it, walked as slow as one too.

It was an early morning train so we got ourselves a coffee and freshly baked pastry to take with us. We made a huge scene bursting into the carriage; trying to balance our food, drink, packs and extra bags, helping one another to throw, and shove our luggage up onto the rack above us.

I sat next to my sister, and our cousin sat across the aisle from us. We got ourselves all seated and settled, I pulled down the tray in front of me and placed everything I needed on it; coffee, pastry, phone, music and book. I sighed and began to relax a bit and my sister and I were chatting and giggling with excitement about our next step in our adventure.

Before I forget, The night I met The warmth of Autumn. One night of Autumn warmed my body and my heart Its eyes bright, clear and blue like the sky, Smiling at me through a face of auburn, red and deep dark browns. The leaves of the tree Falling in masses over me Caressing my body, folding me into the branches of its embrace I can let go in this place of sensuality and desire. His kisses, land gently on my neck. Its warmth spreading throughout my veins. Shivers of delight dance over my skin, Wave after wave the sensation flows Until it reaches deep within. Showing me the magic of his world and things that he knows. And, as a season comes, passes through, so must it go.

The night I felt the warmth of Autumn I won’t forget.