A Place in the Sun

The tone of the iPhone, specifically, triggered it.  I used that particular "bling" for incoming e-mails, work e-mails, onto the phone, back when I was working in St Helier. Gut-wrenching pain reverberates through me, momentarily, as I remember the familiar smell of my beautiful apartment on the Esplanade, overlooking the yachts, and the walk to St Aubin's beach, 3 km of pure bliss as the tide was out, gazing longingly at the sand and sea. The staleness of struggling out of bed and the sinking feeling every time I would be called into an office, after moving to Malta. It was never-ending and the voices still echo in my head, as though I were in a time-travel cavern. I remembered the anxiety as it all spiralled again - and my struggling with myself and the thoughts of the one person  I had joined this team to escape. The crushing grief, his dogged insistence on remaining so close and yet so far. My perseverance in trying to get it out of my system but eventually succum

" I kept my answers small and kept them near; Big questions bruised my mind but still I let Small answers be a bulwark to my fear. The huge abstractions I kept from the light; Small things I handled and caressed and loved. I let the stars assume the whole of night. But the big answers clamoured to be moved Into my life.  Their great audacity Shouted to be acknowledged and believed. Even when all small answers build up to Protection of my spirit, still I hear Big answers striving for their overthrow And all the great conclusions coming near. " "Answers", Elizabeth Jennings Often we find that, while processing something of significance in our minds, we turn our thoughts to that which is less relevant - indeed we become obsessed by minor details when we really should be dealing with matters of greater import. One might find oneself distracted by clearing out a drawer when they really should have started to draft out a paper.  Alternative

I sat around, moping about the fact that someone's letter, supposedly posted ten days ago, had not reached me. Granted, the mere allegation that someone posted something does not mean it was posted at the agreed time or place.  Nor does it mean that the letter will be delivered swiftly, given the rushed period that precedes Christmas.  However, this caused me to turn my thoughts to how our expectations have changed over the years.  As a young girl, it was nice to have something to look forward to, and if a friend sent me something by post (perhaps we were unable to meet, or something of the sort), I knew that it would arrive, at some point, and it was a nice delicious feeling to know that the future held a nice little surprise for me.  It mattered not when it did in fact arrive, even if I looked at that letterbox with anticipation. Somehow, I could not bring myself to recreate that positive expectation this time round. My mind was immediately filled with ideas of letters gettin