who I was then;

on remembering all of our inner folk; a journal writing prompt

I wrote Matryoshka in the pandemic. It somehow found me again last night in a notes search - so I thought I’d place it here for safekeeping. It emerged after a glass of wine in the garden, lying on the lawn noticing the quiet of the motorway and flight path. I recalled all the times I had laid under clouds before. I recalled my various inner children and adults, their snapshot memories and the things they had to tell me.

I’ve used this as a writing device today with a different theme.

I’ve thought of me, looking at autumn leaves underfoot across the archives that are my life to date.

Leaves from conker gathering with my Dad as a child, one time when my Mum was in hospital.

Leaves at a wedding where I was texting someone I shouldn’t have been texting.

Leaves in a hospital foyer.

Leaves that burned in bright technicolour the autumn I fell in love with Mark.

We can take a motif from nature that speaks to us today, remember ourselves and write what gets captured.

Stars on cold clear nights, pink sunrises, a gathering storm.

Where were you?

Who were you then?

What would you tell your selves, knowing what you know now?

And what do they have to tell you?

Matryoshka

I lay on my back on the lawn tonight and soaked up some last sighs of summer.  I looked up.

And time folded into layers of all the clouds I’ve seen from below. 

I am small and my gran is teaching me that clouds can look like animals and castles. 

I am eight and my brother is hitting the swing ball around my head, we are laughing.

I am sixteen, I think I’m falling in love. I’m not.

I’m 29, in a park wondering what next. 

I’m 31 on the Whitsunday islands living my best Facebook life (and I’ve never felt so lost). 

I’m 31 on Beer beach and I’m actually falling in love.

I’m 35, on a sun lounger recovering from infertility related surgery.

I’m 43 on an unseasonably hot April day and the world is turning over. 

I am here now. 

It isn’t just our inner child we carry around. It’s all the selves. Russian dolls. Our tree rings. They all need tending to sometimes.

Notes I would love to hear from you;

What was the stimulus for your voyage into then? Photos extra appreciated.