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Christmas Escape Room...

Martian Tom

Happy Christmas, everyone!  I hope your day goes as well as can be expected.

Stop by when you nip off for a break.  Shoot the breeze (not the relatives!)

How's it going?  I know it's a tough time for some of us.  Share if you feel like it.

I've just had a breakfast of grilled veggie sausages and tomatoes, with fried mushrooms and a fried slice.  Fresh coffee with cream.  Feeling a little sick now.

My only gifts were from my niece.  Seems she knows the way to my heart!  I opened the whisky last night and had some, so no... I haven't been at it already at this time of the morning!

Won't be long, though...

Take good care everyone. xxx

Parents Reply
  • in reply to .

    Always a pleasure to share a touch of Frost...

    Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

    Whose woods these are I think I know.   
    His house is in the village though;   
    He will not see me stopping here   
    To watch his woods fill up with snow.   
    My little horse must think it queer   
    To stop without a farmhouse near   
    Between the woods and frozen lake   
    The darkest evening of the year.  
     
    He gives his harness bells a shake   
    To ask if there is some mistake.   
    The only other sound’s the sweep   
    Of easy wind and downy flake. 
      
    The woods are lovely, dark and deep,   
    But I have promises to keep,   
    And miles to go before I sleep,   
    And miles to go before I sleep.
Children
  • in reply to .

    I always try to.  You hold onto them, too.

  • in reply to Martian Tom

    Hold onto those last two lines in particular Mr T. When you no longer think there is an open door, seek something or someone to light the way

  • in reply to Martian Tom

    And here's one of mine, Ellie... written 20 years ago, when I was emerging from a very dark period of my life...

    On the Downs

    Life was made for such days.

    Sun enough to soften the grass.

    A breeze so light it brushes

    like a kiss from someone

    barely known, though

    coming familiar - brushes

     

    like the wing-tips

    of the gulls, skimming the

    skin of water, raising no

    ripple in their wake. 

     

    Ships pass at a blue distance.

    The sound only of dogs -

    heard as at night, across

    valleys, in old dreams.

     

    I take the steps to the

    sea wall, kicking pebbles

    off the edge as I head along,

    thinking of little except

    a line of verse, the sense of

    value intrinsic to this, the

    comfort of familiar things.

     

    I glimpse her in passing -

    a moment in the shine of an eye,

    a flick of hair, a thing not said.

    I look back.

     

    There are possibilities.

    Always, there are possibilities.