“There is snow on the ground again, a lot of it!” Gun Roswell
Peekaboo, through the view
A forestry type setting As the son slowly letting The change of something Quite new and alluring White and crispy clean Still untouched not seen The view from behind The trees to a divine Setting from a fairytale Which is not for sale And lasting only for a while And then it’s gone with a cry But even if you manage somehow To capture the image right no You can see much more Than any picture has in store A moment of perfection Fleeting by to a direction New and most likely fine
“The sun is setting and I am letting, my hair hang down, after all, time too, will stall “ Gun Roswell
Some kind of sunset
It’s not very often, one really gets, to the state of that simple awe But today, that totally happened, simply, from what I out there, saw The countryside, the fields, the very open wide, of the high skies All covered in rays of various blues, oranges, purples, reds and yellows Making you want to stop and stare and shout out, really loud a “hello!” This unexpected and odd effect, especially, during the time, of the year When all is dark and there is nothing there, except maybe, the fear That the sun will never, ever again turn up, and light our darkened way But today, it was a special kind of a treat, where the feeling of defeat And against all the odds and the grey and dull, was lifted for a moment As if the nature, wanted, us, the dwellers of earth, get out of torment Then, with a show so spectacular, painted the colours, across the sky Before retreating, once again, and leaving us, the earth and all, behind
“Nothing better, like a day at the beach, laying lazily, on a padded seat“ Gun Roswell
Sunday at the Beach
Sundays, really are the best days, forget all them days rest As this is the one day, you can do what ever you may Without too much of a thought, when acting like a sloth Trying not too much to worry, about the next day, being sorry That during, nothing got done and only having some needed fun But hey, do not worry, as what is, but one single day off And then, letting your hair hang loose, and not needing to choose Whether a loose pair of the flip flops, are ´totally a proper pair Of some kind of everywhere kind of accepted footwear So, be, that one and total fool, and go and play it really cool And head out to the that one special place, where there is no doubt You can just be, the one being, without actually been seen As a total jackass, for not always, working off their own ass Relax, enjoy, your worries off deploy and take a load off For today is that one day of a Sunday, and don’t need to show off
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times” Charles Dickens
A Christmas Tale of sorts or Can I have some Figgy Puddin’, please?
The year was 1845. I was about ten years of age and working as a stable girl. Our family lived and worked in Lord Hamilton’s manor house. It was Christmas time and as a gift for the servants, the Lord arranged a feast for the staff and their families.
Mommy had the children dressed in their Sunday best. My two brothers were complaining about the stiffness of the shirts. Starch was itchy and could cause rash, especially if one scratched the itch. I had my favourite dress on and my younger sister was a bit jealous of the red and green colouring. She was wearing a plain blue coloured hand me down.
After all the fuzz and hassle with the wardrobe, the whole family was finally set to go to the main house and start with the Christmas dinner. Us servants would be dining in the large kitchen. Several long tables were brought in with extra seats as well. This wasn’t a large household. With around fifteen servants and their families, well not all had children and spouses, all in all around sixty people in total crammed around the tables. The two cooks had had their hands full with the preparations and naturally every one that could had chipped in.
But now it was time for celebration. Everyone was finally sitting down and getting quiet. After grace the noise level rose again. Food containers were passed around and everyone was filling their respective plates. After all, it wasn’t often we got to eat in this manner and variety.
After a while, everyone had cleared their plates and it was time for dessert. My favourite was the Figgy Pudding. If possible I opted for seconds. As I got my plate of the delicious substance before me, I licked my lips and dug into it with gusto. It did not take too long for the food to disappear from my plate.
My mom looked at me with a smirk. I looked back at her and passing my bowl I asked: “Is there any Figgy Puddin’ left?”
I was smiling widely, feeling exhilarated, when the bowl was passed back to me with an other helping.
When the final bits were eaten, it was time for the traditional sing along. The farmhand brought out his accordion and after the first few tunes, we all joined in. The evening was spent singing, chatting and finally picking up the tables. We all went back to our dwellings, thanking the Lord for the special meal.
“Santa has it great. I buy all the toys. He gets all the credit.”
Call me, Mrs Claus
You may call me, Mrs Claus Without applause Doing my bid Without one single payment of a quid Yuletide Without this, proud bride Of Santa Claus Would be, just empty banter No kind of jolly Or celebration folly Neither for me Or even, for you
“There is just something, of so much fun, when getting to the countryside, to get undone “ Gun Roswell
Travel to the Farm
The day ahead, looking really good, from this, bigger size town shed When packing up the car, with food, proper clothing and even a tent Because today, the country side beckoned, for a quite memorable event Even if this was something, done quite often, despite a lot of time there spent
The drive, went pretty fast, as the farm, was not that far, just down the road But never the less, getting there, with even all the prepare, was never a bore As all the small and big things waiting there, were not just the country fair But a whole plethora of exiting stuff, this town group could not get off enough
Animals, of various types, some of the soft and cuddly, some more scary types With large horns sticking from their sides, or maybe just thinking of the large vehicles Such as tractors on the open fields plowing and doing what ever needed doing And to these city folk, this was always so exotic, that you would like to get there stuck
“Step into the portal, open wide, and into, the adventure, of your life” Gun Roswell
The portal
When the portal opens, feel free, to step inside, and take a short ride, to the great unknown, and let your mind, be totally blown. Because once you are onboard, there is no single world out there, you cannot visit. And even if the trip seems most of the times quite dizzy, do not dare to stop and get off, but rather make it, to the very end, as the time in there spent, on this merry go round of a thing, you won’t have missed one precious minute, when the fare is finally over. It’s just like you had started and never even parted, your original destination, still, the accumulation, of experience and memory, is all saved, inside your head, for future reference, or when you will dream, in your bed. The portal, is now closing, but look around, maybe another one, a portal with an adventure, soon enough, can be found.
“Do not forget your history, as it will always keep on, repeating” Gun Roswell
Standing tall, no matter what
Monumentally so, the history ancient and even more recent, keeps on living, in the books, in the movies, even in our very minds, but most of all, it is still strong, out there, in the fields, on the mountains, beneath our very own feet, just look, you really don’t have to long seek. So, so many good and bad reminders, of our own past, but hey, you always take them, as a package, even if with a loud gasp.
All the tall structures, built strong and proudly, to forever last, by our ancestors, without too many tools or even plaster. Some of the structures, still standing, after all the years passing by, laid out on the planes or even elevated high. Despite the weather, the living creatures and nature growing all around, they were meant to last, even if struggling to survive, all those piles, because those are what they mostly are, will remain, long after, all of us, have left.
“As the elements of nature you see, water, might just be, the most fun of them, in my opinion” Gun Roswell
Waters Edge, on a Sunny Day
The calming and totally inviting cool blue hues reflected, across the palette of each and every single surface Beckoned, this, very weary, disbelieved traveller, whom itself had neglected, to take a break without disturbance The empty banks, which the beginning of the seaside flanked, were a canvas for the imagination now blank There was no hurry or worry, to do anything else, but to sit down on to the swells, where the rocky terrain dwelled Then letting the thoughts fly, towards the eternal skies, carrying them off to others spheres up there, high After all, this time alone, was removed from the continuum, the moment frozen, from any of the other dozen This, it was the perfect place, to let go any and all hesitate, and simply be, and the surroundings to see As nothing else really mattered now, only the scenic picture in front and how, special the feeling of simply here being Amongst the elements, the water, the land, the sky and never asking the why, because this, was the perfect life
Rantings Of A Third Kind 