I am the face of hope,
In the fast fading light.
I am the distant dream
Driving forwards, when the day draws to a close,
The Star-bright shining in a suburban sultry night.
I am the laughter and the tears, the fear and guilt and pain,
Felt by all the mothers before me, the broken and the humbled, the joyous and loving,
I am the seed, the seedling, the roots, trunk and branches.
I bear the fruit. I am the womb of time.
I am me, fifty and finally come of age, woman.
Alison Jean Hankinson
It is open link night #190 at d’Verse and so we are encouraged to submit anything we choose, this was part of something I wrote a while back, and I guess it is what I need to believe at the moment. Returning and coming home has been nothing short of gruelling, nothing has been simple at all. It has been a little like hurling yourself from a small cliff into a ferocious and stormy ocean. I have to know deep down that it will come right and that the storm will pass. To do this I have to peel back the layers and remind myself of what I believe I am and then slowly start to pick myself up again.
The image is Ellen and the tree- the second version…and my children are very much a symbol of what I am.