A few days ago the wind started, it whistled past the window and ruffled the leaves on the trees i can see as i lay in bed, it forced them to to it's whim and i sat mesmerized until a flock of dark birds covered the panes of glass momentarily and broke my stare. Two days later the same view was of condensation and the flat felt the first real chills of the approaching winter. This evening i can barely see the trees again for the fog that hangs in the air. Outside people walk with the protection of hats and winter coats as the briefest autumn sails quickly past. I feel the end of summer dearly, it's the end of so any chapters for me and i step hesitantly into whatever may follow, it's uncertainty outweighing the sure.
My husband appears to take it more in his stride, he worries about his merge paycheck, and pours his energy into making a home for us now. The flat we were so kindly allowed to stay in needed much attention and it's a daunting task he rises to each day off. He is most productive in the morning, his days off leave the flat unrecognizably changed. I find it more daunting and that coupled with being more creative in the evening, when all he wants is to play, makes me feel like a poor partner in such an endeavor. We have had a string of visitors, the Wii being put through it's paces and extra hands make light work of removing some of the less salvageable pieces of furniture. I sit in the evening and watch him sleep, he tiptoes in the flat in the early morning as i slumber. We feel so opposite and yet somehow it doesn't matter right now, I'm sure it will hit us later but I'm happy in the ignorance for now. I feel like a storm is brewing and I'm almost waiting for it to come. Two different world trying to collide and co-habit, I'm sure our mutual respect will take some battering. He is at home and yet not, I'm not at home and yet feel like I sort of am.
Some days i just want to hide in the flat, cry until puddles form on the ground and curl under the covers that burry me like sand around my ears. Other days i feel so hopelessly unproductive i just want to type, to write something, to study my Serbian, my tefl, cook and even clean. These days are odd days, days of mountains that batter my will by their sheer scale. My husbands wisdom told me to leave the flat alone, to go back to eho and re-discover the servant productivity that my life seems to lack all of a sudden. I am a servant with no instructions, crying out 'here i am Lord, sent me' and yet with no destination, or project. Eho's visit was a good day, i found possibilities and I'm hoping I'll not note the signposts as ornamental but practical. Sundays are the worst days, i dread their arrival. I have a couple of friends left, i watch their lives with interest but I'm acutely aware that i can not be the same person i was. I met a volunteer in eho and heard echo's of my attitude as a volunteer, echo's of times i can not return to, perhaps that is not such a bad thing.
I hear a car horn, the swoosh of air as another passes and the tick of the flats last remaining clock running. outside the deep darkness of the night has swallowed any remaining view and bed beckons soft and warn.
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The other siteWho is GfeefGfeef is the name that my writings have been under for some years. As far as I know it's unique to me. Originally from the UK, I now live in Serbia but continue to have a passion for childrens and youth ministry. Archives
October 2014
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