Morepork

In NZ the native owl is the Morepork and this is the sound of its call- Morepork. We have always loved owls as a family it is perhaps their mysticism or perhaps their association with wisdom. My viewings have been limited to those in captivity but my ears are attuned to their call both at home and in NZ. We had several lived in our backyard bush on Mount Tiger and I would fall asleep listening to their calls most nights, it was as familiar as the sound of the cicadas in summer, but here it was during half term when we were caravanning in Cheshire amidst the trees not far from Arley estate that I heard the familiar sound.

This Saturday I had to get the train to London very early in the morning, 5.30am, before it was light to represent our research project at the Rethink annual conference. As we parked the car at the station I heard the call of a lone owl.

Early morning mist

Lone owl calls- winter darkness

Train leaves the station.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse haibun monday, where we were asked to consider owls.

The images are all my own.

 

Wish you were near.

If I could turn back the clock and revisit the years

The worry and fears would feature less in our lives

I would hold your hand tightly and cherish the tears

I would be kinder, argue less, smile more and realise

That the memories and moments and having you near

Are worth more than ever as ever-swiftly time flies.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is my contribution to the birthday open link night at d’Verse. I am a November birthday. This is about my children, especially my firstborn twin, who is a long way from home and is bravely making her way in the world with no family at her side. When I look back at all the moments I wish there had been more time not less.

 

 

Ode to the town hall clock.

The town hall clock, hands of time

Counting the minutes, measuring the moments

Of our paltry lives.

 

We don’t look up enough

Sometimes we don’t see beyond our own story

Yet still the hands move round.

 

That same clock struck 11, sixteen years ago.

Same minute, same location, same season.

The leaves fell to the ground in remembrance.

 

Synchronicity in those hands

You were so small then in your red coat.

Time stood still for that one moment.

 

I captured your essence in early digital perfection.

The father, the child, the moment

Beneath the town hall clock, the hands that never stop.

 

©Alison Jean Hankinson

This is for d’Verse. It is my ode to the town hall clock which seems visible from just about everywhere in Lancaster. The theme and timing is appropriate as it will be Remembrance weekend. The feature image was taken after the service in 2001 where ironically my husband was in the remembrance parade before he became a veteran of war.

 

 

 

 

 

Days of loss.

Some days there are no happy ever afters

No pot of gold at the end of the rainbow

Inside the cloud- no silver linings

 

Some days the tears we weep fill the reservoirs of our soul

The magnitude of our pain and suffering is beyond remedy

Inside our heart is bereft and broken beyond repair.

 

Some days suffering sadness and shades of sorrow are all there is

And we must carve a new understanding of the world we know

Find a new way to find a glimmer of hope.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

I wrote this last week when despair was at times overwhelming. I still believe in happy ever after- it is in my nature.

Much love. XXX

Shades of 50.

It is done, my fiftieth birthday year finally gone

Kicked the ass out of that, had a bit of fun

Moved house and home,

And now it is done.

Heartaches and happiness all in one.

What a year, glad to move on to 51.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson

this is a bit cheesy but all I could muster for this week’s Quadrille at d’Verse. I celebrated my fiftieth birthday in hospital and it has been a roller-coaster of a year and I think some of the biggest dips were in the last week, so I was a bit quiet….So tomorrow I start a new day, and a new year… and I will be 51.

I miss my Ellen though and would love to have her home with me. XXXX

Dear daughters

It’s never too late to change direction

If the path you are on is not going to lead to the life that you wanted then be brave, take a deep breath and take the fork in the road and change direction.

Don’t settle for less than you deserve. If you earned it then value it and value yourself. Don’t let anyone rubbish your achievements however great or small they may be. Every step forward is brave and courageous when you are journeying into the unknown.

Hold love carefully in your hands and hearts, it can be fragile and can break in the gentlest breeze or be strong and cross any void or vacuum. Take it for what it is and keep it safe in your memory whether it lasted a moment, a lifetime or an eternity.

Be kind to yourself. You are all you have. Don’t wrap yourself in cotton wool, but remember you only have one life.

Be kind to others. Be compassionate. They too will have a story, it might not be the same as yours but it will have laughter and tears, love, loss and heartache.

Ask for help when you need it. Sometimes a trouble shared is a trouble halved and there are souls out there who would gladly share their last supper with another who was in need.

Remember to look upwards, see the sunrise and the sunset. Look at the stars and the skies. There is a whole universe out there waiting.

Breathe. Slowly. Breathe. Take time to be in the moment. See it for what it is and then let it go.

Love always-

Mumma. XXX

©Alison Jean Hankinson

Visiting time.

It is a moment shared

Amid the peace and quiet

Of a drizzly afternoon.

 

No need to talk anymore

Our words and thoughts are feathers

Floating on the breeze

 

A smile, a nod to show we care

A hand held here

Love’s conversation needs.

 

© Alison Jean Hankinson.

The image is my great grandfather John Henry Mcclenan- he was in the military hospital.

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