Birthday celebrations.

Chocolate gateau. It always has to be chocolate gateau. It was my birthday yesterday and my husband asked earlier in the week what cake I wanted. I didn’t want cake. I hate shop brought cakes with their rubber tasting icing. I just wanted chocolate gateau. What I actually wanted though was the exact one my Dad brought me year after year as I grew up, but that one seems to no longer exist and everything I’ve tried since doesn’t compare. Not that I’m moaning cake is cake especially when covered in  creamy chocolate stuff. Hubby’s cake was good, big, more slices for me 🙂 and some left over for breakfast!   Anyway point to the post! Birthdays, crazy things really, why do we celebrate getting older? I’m not entirely sure I want to celebrate being 37 instead of 36 surely it’s a little like saying, “Hey i’m a little closer to death, let’s eat cake!” The older I get the more I tend to let it slip past, don’t get me wrong, I think my birthday is the best day ever, seriously guys, it’s the day I came on out into this world and that’s something to celebrate! I just don’t expect others to think that way! 🙂 In a lot of ways I like doing it this way, I am pleasantly surprised then on the day by those that have remembered, or at the very least are responding to a reminder notification!  Back to the point, why? Why do we celebrate aging, grey hairs, wrinkles, aching bones and and a long list of age related ailments? Am I celebrating keeping myself alive for another year? Yay! Go me, I managed not to kill myself for another year! Hell yeah :). Or am I celebrating another year of life. Another year of experiencing beautiful things; sunsets and sun rises, the moon, the stars. Or is it another year where I learned how to be a better person then I was yesterday…cos I’m not sure I have, and if that’s what celebrating my birthday is about, then I don’t deserve the cake! perhaps celebrating your birthday is about other people. Maybe it’s about them celebrating your life, celebrating your presence, celebrating you. Who knows?!

So anyway, yay, i’m a year older, a year closer to grey hair…actually think I have one, pretty sure I saw it in the mirror, great it’s all down hill from here! A year closer to wrinkles. A year closer to aching bones…and today I watched frost melt from the blades of grass in the garden. I took pictures of the sun burning the ground. I watched the sun rise and searched dark skies for a moon that I couldn’t find. I thanked those who remembered and smiled as I did it. And best of all I ate chocolate cake for breakfast whilst sniffing crazily at the brown Lush paper bag and day dreaming about the amazingly scented lush bath i’ll be having this morning.

I guess celebrating our birthdays is a little bit of everything. :).

 

Karen Hayward (Copyright) 2015.

Warm me from this eternal frost.

With muscles sore from daily chores

nails chipped and skin all dry

a scent of bleach and a sigh of why

I wonder would you gaze with me

into an emerald sky.

With tired eyes and a battered mind

uttered words that can be kind

with aching feet and a heavy heart

would you hold me tight

as I fall apart.

With a loss of hope and glory gone

a voiceless soul without a song,

with speckled dust and twinkles lost

Would you warm me

from this eternal frost?

Dear Page.

Dear page,

Days have passed since we last engaged

and now my fingers skirt across your soft and delicate

soul and the words tumble out as I explore those tingling

sensations of lunacy. Autumn leave’s that scatter through

the air like bright and delightful fireworks, and oh the deep

scent of burning wood as a warm mist clings to the air, whilst

a flock of nameless birds sing proudly across the tree tops.

Doors open doors close and all about, the world moves forward.

The warmth of covers pulled high above my head as rain falls

outside my window, and for a moment I lay there and feel peace.

I feel a calm that soothes across my mind, I feel sleep calling

to me as my limbs are heavy and my thoughts become so very

light. Today, I could not be touched, I could not reached, I

was so far outside of my very own bubble. I could feel the universe,

her energy dancing past me, her love walking through me,

her thoughts guiding me. Dear page, it has been so very long

since we have engaged.

The Silence that I Crave.

6am and the world is still asleep

as the darkness thins

and the sun begins to creep.

A hushed silence found only in the morn’

before the noise awakes

before the earthly storm.

The clouds of pink and red now turn

as the sky grows lighter

and the sun begins to burn.

Birds begin to wake,

soaring the skies

and singing for joys sake.

Silk webs twinkle in the dew

as spiders wake

to explore this day that’s new.

It doesn’t last it never does

as the world awakes

in their incessant rush.

So each night I sleep and then I wake

to see this world,

for my very own sake.

Karen Hayward (Copyright) 2015.

I love it all.

When I was young, I truly knew what it was to love. To swim

dreamily in and out of childish fantasies, bathed in the golden

rays of an eternal sun. I loved it all. The searing heat of summers

that begged to never end and the cold frost of winter that clawed

through to my soul. I loved it all. I loved each person I met in differing

degrees, some I loved for a day, some for an eternity.

I loved to talk. To strangers, to people I had known my entire life,

to people I would never see again. I would never know their name.

I loved to sing as I walked, skipped, ran and jumped. To sing so

loud people would stop and stare. I didn’t care.

I loved to stay awake all night, to watch as the moon ruled the

skies, her light showing us the dying stars. Then to sit, body humming

as the sun reached up and yawned into a fresh new day. Her

yellow arms reaching through into the deep depths of a blue sky.

I loved it all. I loved to wake I loved to sleep. I loved to explore

new corners of my battered, broken home town. I saw beauty

in each step I took, I saw beauty in each hand I shook. I loved

it all. I love it all. I love all that I touch. All that I see. Perhaps

for a second, perhaps, for eternity.

Karen Hayward. (c) 2015.