Member Poem

Wandering the roads.  It has me under a spell even at this juncture in my life.
Even when prickly brambles
scrape my eyelids or those tender foot soles are  being  twisted by tooth like stones.  The angular sort clustered mischievously among the green shoots that litter every footpath.
They lie in wait, in ambush for the absent minded unsuspecting venturer.
It goes with the territory for this seasoned  footman of the road.
Meandering landscapes are house and home to the spiral lanes and clover clad hills that are rife in my area.
Their rustic heritage sometimes sacrificed to the orphanage of a malleable surrounding.
Crop farmers obsessed with bountiful harvests.  A restless developer pushing  the limits of an urban jungle.  Fellow traveller in league with those fugitives from the cockpit.  The pressure cooker of modern life.  The town  dweller with split loyalties who clings to the tumult of the city but hankers after some rural haunt.
Culprits one and all.
A lair from the hubbub.
Dwellings of the quaintest kind huddle together like dots in  a matrix separated only  by a minuscule space.
Their charm not yet eroded by intrusions of the steel plant genus.
The brick and mortar athletes of homes in a flash.
The more alluring aspects of tradition have been fostered and preserved.
Among these traditions are shortcuts or bypasses of a different more enthralling kind.
Those sequestered passages that shave miles off the perennial rambler with a penchant for straying off course. Those saviours of the clueless hitch hiker whose load saps his or her every energy.
The eye becomes a lense to all these  things hidden or supposedly hidden.
Human vision  as sensor to trails just slightly out of focus.
Those tucked away secret spots  beloved of local wiseacres. They festoon the  sprawling countryside at random.  Here there and everywhere.
Today I loitered on the fringes of such fern clad spots.
My name is Eric Spring.
Anthea,my partner a transcendental meditation teacher retired some five years earlier.  Her retirement was never meant to be a permanent fixture.
A final decision hinged on Anthea's ability to purge that  fiendish veil of sadness that had been shadowing her.  There were several obstacles in her path but they could all be cleared given the right stimulus.
Well, spring is my name with hope and optimism bridging the gaps.
Thoughts of Anthea in her halcyon days did creep regularly into my mind.  Mental pictures of a vibrant woman imbued with a prodigious love of this earth and life in general.
Poignant evocative heart tugging images.
All in vivid cinematic detail.
Make a wish reverie notwithstanding.
Bar excursions into town my station is that of Anthea’s carer.  The eternally stoic woman she was mindful of her mental boundaries and the abyss concealed by each of them.
But she is not a killer of the self or prone to self-hate or abuse.  The more lethal plagues of the psyche hadn't yet impacted on her.  Anthea's resolve meant  her spirit wasn’t that easily crushed.   In a word she was groping for exits but hadn’t as of yet found the signs.
She remains housebound as I embark on those age-defying treks into town.
We keep in touch by mobile phone.
A very angelic sensitive looking person is she.
Reminiscent of a Sunday Times editor.
The accent filtered  every noun and stressed every nuance.
Like the sounds from an early morning orchard.
The sweet descent of cadence in the ear.
Her job became monotonous and her other pursuits painting and writing fled without trace.
That most dreaded syndrome of the budding artist struck.
Writer's block.  Artistic vacuum.
The wellspring of her imagination now devoid of those inspiring flashes that sustain creative impulse.
She had few outlets bar my care and a lady called Fidelma  who had the edge on me with regard to local knowledge.                   I longed to hear Anthea's voice on my mobile.  As she speaks her elegant voice and chats are a seamless mesh.
You feel close even when speaking to her from a distance.
One could feel Anthea's presence hovering above whatever the location.
I love the walks and savouring all those pivot points of folklore.
Breathing in drawing in this  simple but hypnotic beauty.
I pride myself on my intimate knowledge of every branch strewn rivulet, stream and  layered rock formation.
My links to the environment are almost erotic at times as I crave  it's sensual touch.
This enchanting world speaks to us if only we’d listen.
At times I enter a tranquil zone where the shutters are drawn.
Just myself and all those habitats from another dimension.
“Hello Eric? Lost in thought again.
How is anthea these days?
I spoke to her over the phone a few days ago.
I sometimes drop in on her when you are out.”  Fidelma speaking  with that chirping  red robin voice of hers.
She had this habit of suddenly appearing like an archaeological site.
And she vanished just as quickly leaving the person she spoke to  scrambling to process her asides and insights before  they disappeared.
Neighbour friend root and branch archivist whose grasp of detail was legendary.
“She seems to be coping.”  I said.
“Glad to hear that.   Maybe I can pay flying visit some time soon.
But aren't you a foolish man to be imposing all those Olympic Marathons on yourself ?”
Fidelma about to share one of her treasured nuggets.
“I love walking but any tips?” I enquired naively as events soon demonstrated.
“There’s a shortcut - a little known shortcut.
People in the know recommend it though I have never actually used it myself.
Maybe I will one day.
See, it's on the right hand side up the road there.
Most people are only dimly aware of it.
One of those unknown spots.
Think it might be useful when you want to get home in a hurry.”  She concluded.
Fidelma in advanced middle age was still sprightly and youthful in her ways.
I missed a text from anthea and Fidelma noticed this.
“Yes. I have one of those things too.
Got one the other day.
Keeps me connected.
Took me awhile to master it.
Wish there was a shortcut for that too.
But I'll best be on my way.  May the road rise with you. Take good care whatever the route.”
We parted company.
As always having spoken to Fidelma I wondered about in a trance.
Another colourful aspect of Fidelma’s personality was her “Banana Skin Syndrome.”
She could lose her balance at times when she got carried away with a topic or when she stumbled on an area that fascinated her.
The feet were a little wobbly.
All this against her philosophy about how interconnected we all are.
The mind is an  antenna sending out signals to others was a frequent broadside of hers.
Even when she said very little she always had this impact on others.
Those terse one liners could trigger an avalanche in the mind.
Her thin phrases were always shrouded in a well crafted poetic meter.
It was in the tone, gestures and body language.  She cast a spell as she spoke.
Those beady yet expressive eyes scanning her environment like a radar screen.
A cascade of images and sound bytes with all sorts of riches buried deep ensued when she left.
Waiting to be probed.  Eventually.
Several hours passed as my mind was in overdrive like a central processing unit.
I heard this inner voice,an inner whisper telling me to explore this “shortcut”.
Having texted Anthea I then proceeded to this offshoot of a lane. It was going to lighten the journey of this slope and pavement plodder.
Off I went down this quaint country shortcut in anticipation of goodness knows what.
Nothing out of the ordinary to begin with until anthea rang.
“Gnawing feeling of sadness. My mind is a dark blue canvass at the moment.
That blue sky as domicile for that dreaded black grey cloud.”
Her lilting twang mingling with the song birds at the start of my downward journey.
She shared and I listened.
I sensed this was urgent and started to walk quickly down this unfamiliar route.
That's when problems arose.  Sort of.
Just a plain country passage with a flat surface at this point.
There were  houses on each side and just some weeds strewn and partially mangled, turned to mulch by wild and indiscriminate booths.
Strange feelings welled up within me as I felt like a geyser at yellowstone.
My sixth sense was  heightened.
The puff and splutter of the tractor in nearby fields as furrows the epicenter of future yields were turned.
Scarecrows were strategically perched in the meadow behind the right hand  hedge  to ward off some menace or other.
Something told me to relate my surroundings to Anthea.
If only to divert attention from an impending gloom.
Those barely audible inner prompts again.
“Eric, I don't want to pressurise you but at the moment I feel this dark cloud.
Familiar  territory.”
I paused.
It then occurred to me that I was surrounded by dark foreboding clouds in tandem with a rising rainbow-like haze due to the prevailing  temperatures.
As Anthea continued her disorders seemed to be complemented by threats of rain intermingled with sunshine.
“I feel, Eric there is a sunshine trying to ward off this darkness within me.
Just to see you … your presence is a light which I can focus on. Your aura is enough.”
Then I realised that speed was of the essence.
That's when I could have panicked.
Anthea’s voice seemed louder, but also more poetic as I realised this obscure overlooked route could have done with quite a bit of, let's say, restoration!
Tufts of grass oozing slime. Discolourations I had never encountered before.  Mounds of mud with pockets of oil stained water.
The briars were a shock team that endangered every part of the human body.
I was conveying all this to anthea as I was trying to dash at my normal pace.  It dawned on me that this was becoming more like an endurance test.
Oddly Anthea’s tone of desperation started to dip ever so slightly.
But she did appear less tense as I told her this story over the phone. Escapades about my wading down this mud splattered bypass.
“Someone told me this is a shortcut.”
I said gingerly.
“Who was that ? Anthea asked.
“Fidelma.  We met on the main  road just a short while ago.
You know her a bit better than I do.”
Anthea responded.  “She's going to call over one of these days  I'm sure.”
I didn't know what to say to that but a reply wasn't necessary either by the sound of it.
I continued on my way.
By now Anthea, initially nervous  was mellowing as I continued with my frantic running … and staggering commentary!
She mightn't have had much to excite her over the last five years with all her passions either drying up or fading.
But I had to be careful lest those  dark brooding phases returned. That could scupper any prospect of a lasting recovery no matter how remote.
Like a roving reporter I regaled her with lurid descriptions of limp green shrubs, tea stained brown leaves shredded aimlessly on fissured rocks, juice dripping blackberry bushes with foraging earwigs seeking shelter from the sun.
But here I was almost knee deep in brambles while keeping the love of my life up to speed.  The labyrinthine outcrops and mock craters were all included.  The sweltering heat which seemed  to be going up a notch got a passing mention.
And I'm not talking about the pressure of the situation.
Suddenly misfortune struck without warning.
I nearly twisted my ankle as I fell face down on a grassy surface.
Prickly  plants  as well as muddy patches with awful odours engulfed me.
Sprawled awkwardly across this surface my phone went flying also.
“Eric, are you ok?
I must be putting terrible pressure on you.
Will I get someone to meet you at the end of this lane or short cut.”  Anthea again.
I wasn't hurt but a little shaken.
“I'm fine, Anthea.” I said before slowly rising.
I kept detailing my observations about the lane and it's surroundings and Anthea was responding as positively as someone like her could.
But I made it eventually with the sounds of the road as guide.
The temperatures continued to rise which didn't help matters. Sweat soaked clothing et al.
Peering thru the maze of tangled growth I saw … I saw … wait for it.  Fidelma.
“Where did you spring from ?” I asked.
“Fidelma ...you fell too.”  A question that might have appeared tactless.
She was getting up, having fallen when taking her bearings it seems.
“Didn't expect to see you here.” I said.
“Fidelma …. thanks but no thanks.
The shortcut.”  I said.
“You are shivering .” She observed.
“I am.  We both are.” I responded.
“Got to get to Anthea because she might be in need of help.” I continued.
We both headed for my house as quickly as our two feet could take us after our “ordeal”.
But it was only a couple of hundred yards down the road.
I texted Anthea and she responded by saying she had every reason to speak to me.
I was just wondering what that might be.
My face whitened a little  but carried on regardless.
With Fidelma by my side we soon reached the house where Anthea and I both lived.
I pressed the doorbell with my heart pounding for obvious reasons.
The door opened suddenly and we couldn't believe what we saw.
“Anthea, is that you?
I haven't seen you smile like that in years.”
I said.
Fidelma and I were perplexed but a  happy feeling descended on us both.
“It’s early days yet but I think those locusts of darkness hopping around in my head maybe a thing of the past.
My creative juices returned when I sensed your anxiety down the lane because I didn't want two sick people in this house.
But you brought splashes of vivid colour into my drawing room.  I could almost smell the rustic fragrance of every wilting petal and the creak in every canopy of twigs.  You set a whole cycle in train in artistic and emotional terms.”
Anthea then showed me  two items she was working on.
“I have started a rough sketch of the lane you detailed and immediately started writing a short story.
There's been a sea change.”  She said.
“Oh I wonder what I'll call this sketch and  that short story ?
Any ideas ?” She enquired.
Fidelma and I looked at each other and spoke almost in unison.
“I think we both have a fair idea what they both might be called.
Your story included.”
A little known shortcut indeed!.