gratitude #8/10

I am grateful for my body today.

So, I started a dance class a couple of weeks ago and I am pretty crap at it. Now my brain is a perfectionist – If I’m not immediately good at something I pack up and go home, but my body is a completely different beast – it just loves to move, it loves to try and fail and try again and practice the moves while washing up, watering the garden, carrying a shopping basket up and down the aisles at Aldi… Wherever, whenever, my body loves to MOVE. And eventually this joy is contagious and I find myself laughing with total joy and abandon as I flail about enthusiastically in class, and even more when I realise that I am moving in the opposite direction as everyone else. Hahaha!

What is not to love and appreciate about this marvellous joy machine that I have been blessed with?

Kerbside pickup day from the Book of Ro

1. And in the September of 2015 I sayeth to  my Dave ‘If you thinketh we are going to cart all this adjective adjective junk to the new house where it will sit for years and years you can thinketh again. 2. And Dave thinketh again and we moveth the adjective adjective junk. 3. And I said there will cometh a kerbside pickup and if you haven’t done anything with the adjective adjective junk we will put it out to the kerb. 4. Dave agreed. 5 And it cameth to pass. Indeed the adjective adjective junk has not seen the light of day since it was delivered to the new house. 6. And yea! the kerbside pickup hath been announced for Monday 10 July in the 2017th year of Our Lord.  7. And I will be delivered from rusty bikes, legs without chairs, the heads of fans and dusty boxes of cords and plugs to which we know not what they belongeth. 8. Yea! 9. You bloody ripper! 10. Amen!

white foxes

my friend
there is so much that you have missed

each morning the sun still rises to touch the clouds with gold
that place that sells the good kebabs is making real lemonade again
and Sara’s baby girl giggles in her sleep

they say she couldn’t see that anymore she lived in a world with no colour

but last night, in a world bleached by fog I saw
two white foxes in the headlights
suspended

how I miss you
dear friend

an ordinary september morning in a bush suburb of brisbane, australia

the light is soft, the sky ablaze in the east, sun rising over my sister’s empty house
the neighbour’s roosters are crowing, highway a-humming, small birds whistle
a pop-pop-pop
tweet a-twitter peep-peep pittering
a chirup a chirup a chirup
the hens squabble up the hill over breakfast
except for chee chee who grizzles at my feet about the too-cold water
in little groups the rest come join her – ranga2, bonnet, julie2, lovely, dovely, bandit-the-pizzle, and ember
now crowd at my feet whinging for scraps
My feet are damp from the dew and coolish
hands are warm from the coffee cup perched on the table in front of the laptop
The early crows get up and call the rest to murder
the last of the chooks’ breakfast
Soon my sister will be home from night shift. I will get up and make her a cuppa if she drops in
and be careful where I tread.

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