Blind Sight # 3


Last Week’s Submission –  Picture it and Write – 2nd version Blind Sight

Thank you to Marisa Lyon for letting us use her great photograph for this week’s prompt.

For something a little different I have decided (for this weeks Picture it and Write photo prompt) to continue the story from last week.  Critique welcome.

“Walk with me”, she gently whispers.
“I am scared”, I reply.
“I am with you, no harm shall come to you, I promise, you must trust me”, her voice was soft and reassuring.
“I do trust you”.
Slowly I stood from my desk and felt my way along the edges with both hands, till I reached a corner.
“Ten steps to the door”, she said.
I counted out my ten paces.
“Now hold out your right hand and feel for the door, then you need to turn right”.
I ran my hand along the door frame then turned as she asked.
“Twelve steps, almost there”.
I counted twelve, with my hands outstretched I reached a wire door. A warm breeze hit my face which made me blink several times.
My hands felt along the cold metal, till I found the handle and opened the door to the outside world.
“Just a little further, you are doing wonderfully”.
I smiled.
“There are seven large steps now, slowly”.
I held onto the side rail and gingerly placed each foot. They were both cold and warm to the touch.
“Now walk to your left a little, about fifteen steps”.
I walked across what I assumed to be the grass, for it was slightly spongy and cool underfoot.

“There is a swing, a seat that moves back and forth, turn around, hold your hands up either side of you and grab tight to the ropes, then you need to sit on the seat”, she giggled.
I hesitated, but she would not let harm come to me, I felt for the seat, the ropes and turned my back to them. Wriggling one side to another I sat on the swing in my garden, the garden that I had never seen.
“Now move your body back and forth, push hard”, she tittered.
I arched backwards and then pushed my body forwards and I was swinging for the first time in my life.
A feeling I hadn’t felt before as the warm air touched my face, my bare legs and feet bending beneath and in front of me.

“When I ask you to draw with charcoal, tell me what do you see”? she asked.
“I only have darkness, you know that, I do not know of colour”, I replied.

There was silence between us,  I would never know the concept of colour. Never know the colour of trees, steps, grass or the sky.  My world would always be black.

I felt her sadness within my heart.

“Please, I whispered, don’t be, you are my guardian angel and if I draw only with charcoal and never know the marks that I leave on paper, I am content. For what I do not know, I will never miss”.

I lifted my head up, as I swung in the air and gave thanks for the breath that I inhaled, that I could see the world through her eyes and that my heart was beating.



Apologies for the length of this submission…I couldn’t stop.

Mother of The Bride – Me

The Mother of The Bride

My eldest daughters wedding 2 years ago. Thought I would pop in a pic or 2 along the way & quite frankly this is probably one of the best pics I have (the professional make-up and having my hair done makes the world of difference!). Apologies if this seems a little vain – but I thought connecting the writer with the face may be helpful and as I said this is the only photo I’m truly happy about : -)

My Thoughts

Commence prattling.

A while ago I sifted through some photos. One in particular reflected two beautiful young women, tanned unblemished skin, hair and make up done and dressed in stunning clothes. I gaze on this photo, how absolutely gorgeous they are. How much they have ahead of them, being able to do and acquire whatever they desire in life. They are my daughters. Whilst looking at these photos, I saw my life at that point and I envied them.

Natural changes that have occurred within me and within my family as the years pass. I openly admit that I have the desire to have the youthfulness and beauty as my girls do back again and yes I did get a microscopic twang of jealousy, is this uncommon? On the other hand, is it simply that I didn’t want my ‘babies’ to grow up?


(This is the time I ask you to grab that glass of wine for l have immersed into the deep and meaningful for a bit). The body as we know it is the vehicle for conveying the first undeniable awareness of no longer being youthful. One can be youthful on the inside and think the same way as we did when we were younger, but the outside casing that what is visible is the sign that we are no longer young.

We resist our ageing for as long as humanly possible, was I was overly concerned with the concept of turning fifty the ‘mid way’ point in my life? (Assuming I live to 100) Yes l was. The realisation that over the next thirty or forty years would bring impending frailty, dependence on others and morbidly the final outcome the end of my life. (God where is THIS coming from? Bear with me it shouldn’t lighten up soon). We consider fifty in fact to be the half way mark, the loss of youth and the onset of ‘change of life’ which also brings the loss of reproductivity, (not that that part worried me to any great extent). I dearly would have loved to have a third child, but in hindsight wondered if my nerves or lack of tolerance would have coped with having another!

In early 1994 I was detected with Endometriosis, it was asked of me by my gynecologist that while I was having a cauterization would I want to have my tubes tied. John my ex husband (oh and by the way names have been changed to protect the innocent – obviously for a reason l thought necessary but for the life of me at this point can’t understand why) was happy with having two girls, but inside I knew I would have liked a chance of having another child. I remember lying in the hospital bed deeply upset as the reality of not being able to bare any more children struck me. I don’t know why I didn’t mention it to John at the time, to let him how I truly felt about it, but I cried as I lay on that hospital bed. lt seemed surreal  that the hospital that I gave birth to both my babies was the place where I also ceased to have any more.

Do I ‘feel’ 58 (some days I do) but how should 58 feel? The changes in my body have become more and more evident as the years pass. In the old scale I am five foot five and a half (the half an inch I always regarded as highly important). My weight over the years has fluctuated anywhere from sixty-four kilos to fifty-six kilos. Trying to maintain one’s weight at a certain level is extremely difficult, and more so as you get older. For a long time the only exercise I did apart from housework was walking, then I hit the gym signing up each year for 3 years and I turned into quite the gym junkie until the dreaded injuries started.

Firstly the hamstring strain and the quad muscles that were so tight they were could snap like an elastic band (according to my physiotherapist). No sooner had l healed from that my left elbow started playing up, so no weights for a month. Then there are the shin splints, the heels aching from jogging too much or over doing my quest for a toned fit body. Apart from the slight set backs the benefits have been my ‘fat back’ diminishing, my legs are getting a little more toned and I have re-acquainted my body to a waistline…oh and I gave up on the gym.

So yes, though the body goes through so many changes, as long as I remain young at heart, young in mind, I think I’ll be okay.