healingwords: poetry for the soul

Seeing a lost photograph of my mother's parents the other day has my mind wandering back to Galway and my mother's stories of her life there during the war. I knew the Long Walk before I walked it for the first time this September, I recognised the fiery swell of the river Corrib dashing into the Atlantic, had seen in my mind the mist over Galway Bay, the view over to The Claddagh. My regret now is I didn't question her stories, I listened and took them into my heart without asking more about the family, their histories, the details of her young life. It is only when we can no longer ask those questions that we realise their importance.  © 2019 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

On every   visit back to my Coventry home I would find time to walk around Kenilworth Castle. I cycled there with my childhood friends, a daring 5 miles for today's children but it seemed normal then. I ran free in the Castle's shadow with my parents and brothers, enacting mock battles as imaginary Knights. In later years it was a more leisurely stroll, arm in arm with my mother. My own children joined me on our visits back from Spain, keen to share both the historical treasure and my memories and it was always a favourite walk with beloved friends, usually ending in the nearby cafe for tea and cake. I hope it will not be too long now before I return. CASTLE WALK Long have I walked the Castle walls, biking the lanes to picnic on damp grass,  arms though my mothers like linking chain,  returning from exile with my growing flock, an abiding place of peaceful pilgrimage. Crisscrossing the marsh, boots sucked mud wards, retreating to the high...

Spring is finally arriving in our corner of Spain, the breeze has changed from bracing to warm and birdsong and the buzzing of insects can be heard from the patios and rooftops. The ‘campo’ is greening and wild spring flowers colour the hillsides and olive and almond groves after the winter drought was broken with a few weeks of welcome rain. I appreciate being able to walk out and be amongst this natural beauty but find as so often my mind is drawn back to Warwickshire and my childhood haunts. I love the litany of flower names, recited on country walks with my mother. She loved flowers, both wild and in her garden and they live on in my memories.     FLOWERS - WALKING WITH MY MOTHER Buttercups held under chin, gold reflecting love of butter, melting on Sunday’s marmite toast. Puckered face concentrates as pearl nails pinch daisy stems, crowned on child’s tossed curls. Jump over marsh marigolds lining damp ditches, sticklebacks in jam jars ...