Lo, there do I see my father
Lo, there do I see my mother and my sisters
and my brothers
Lo, there do I see the line of my people back
to the beginning
Lo, they do call to me
They bid me take my place among them
in the Halls of Valhalla
Where the brave may live forever...
I wrote a letter the other day. I wrote everything down that I cannot ever tell anybody, and then I folded it up, put it into an envelope marked "To the Finder", and went for a walk.
I left it on a bench.
I don't know whether anyone read it. I don't know whether it got blown away and lost, unread and unknown, and I don't really mind.
You just can't tell people everything. It isn't that I can't trust people, or that I don't think they'll understand, but there is something nice about knowing that a stranger knows more about you than you know they know.
I didn't sign the letter.
JANUARY:
Easy to talk to, though hard to understand. Thinks far with vision, yet complicated to know. Easily influenced by kindness. Polite and soft-spoken. Having lots of ideas. Sensitive. Active mind. Hesitating, tends to delay. Choosy and always wants the best. Temperamental. Funny and humorous. Loves to joke. Good debating skills. Has that someone always on her mind. Talkative. Daydreamer. Friendly. Knows how to make friends. Abiding. Able to show character. one guy kind of person. Loveable. Easily hurt. Prone to getting colds. loves music. pretty. Loves to dress up. Easily bored. Fussy. Seldom shows emotions. Takes time to recover when hurt. Sensitive. Down-to-Earth. Stubborn.
Obtained for my use by [.Forever Dreaming.]
The Last Time.
Please note, there is a translation in my diary.
For the last time, she closed the door behind her. It would be the last time she would visit this place. For the last time, she checked her reflection in the looking glass in the hallway. For the first time, she let the key slide from her fingertips to drop to the carpeted floor, a well worn walking boot treading it into the floor as she opened the front door, yanking her bag further up her leather covered shoulder. This was it. She wouldn’t be coming back this time. Places she had seen every day of her life, paths she had walked a thousand times passed under the heel of her boot for the last time. Her hair whipped out from under a scruffy cap as the winter wind grabbed strands, tangling the multi toned layers and flicking them before her eyes as though trying to stop her seeing where she was going. As though trying to make her stay.
It was horribly easy to walk to the bus station and order a National Express ticket to London. The bus rumbled and jostled her sleeping form against the window, her legs protectively pulled up to her chest, leaning against the seat in front, bag beside her on the garishly coloured, carpet textured seat. When a man woke her to tell her that he needed the seat, she merely nodded sleepily and shoved the bag down to the floor, going back to sleep immediately.
London was a smelly, busy, roaring place, full of yelling, rude people who shoved past her, eager to get to wherever they were going. She was going to the Airport. Most people ignored the quiet girl with the leather jacket and ripped jeans, cap pulled low over her face, shoving past her as she tucked the money she’d withdrawn from her bank account into her wallet. Airport. Freedom.
She hated flying. Always had, always would.
The sun beat down on her with loving kindness, the sound of the sea and the wind in the trees a blissful riot of her dream. The small villa behind her had all it’s veranda doors and windows flung open to get rid of most of the dust, age old furniture receiving the first kiss of fresh air in decades. She’d been lucky to find this place. E-Bay was such a wonderful thing. Italy was such a beautiful place.
“Ciao!” Called a man from a house nearby, the rocky slope no obstacle as he made his way down to her. She looked up with a hand over her eyes. He was young, a little older than her, and handsome.
“Ciao!” She called back, smiling.
“Dovette essere il nuovo vicinot?”
“Si, sono.” She smiled, reaching a hand out to him. He took it, smiling back. “Piacevole per venirli a contatto sig…?”
“Ferenzzo. Domenico Ferenzzo.” The man supplied, “Ma i miei amici lo denominano Dom.”
“Piacevole per venirli a contatto, Dom. Il mio nome è...” She hesitated, wondering whether she should give him her real name. No. “…Louise. Louise Ainsworth.”
Dom smiled. “Piacevole per venirli a contatto, Louise. Sembrate tired. Cominciato a pulire ancora?”
She grimaced, looking up at the villa. “Arrgh, no ed io non sto osservando spedisce esso.” Dom laughed and offered her an arm.
“Siete arrivato soltanto appena, io non li incolpate. Venuto, mangi con me alla mia casa. Non ho molto, ma almeno sarà qualcosa. Se non se lo occupate di che dico, ho visto che non avete avuti mólto. Il resto del vostro stuff sta venendo sopra presto?” He asked kindly, showing her to a worn wooden seat beside a table on his verandah. She looked at the table top. “No, non probabile non dovrei pensare.” She murmured sadly. Home was behind. The world ahead. Dom frowned, looking apologetic. “Li ho rovesciati. Sono spiacente, Louise.” She looked up, smiling, all traces of sadness gone. “No! No, non. Sono solo tired dal volo. Sto cominciando ancora qui, facendo una nuova vita. Otterrò tutto che abbia bisogno di dalla città.” She explained, waving her hands about animatedly. Dom nodded, placing two chipped mugs down with a jar of something. “Vino?” He asked with a grin. She grinned back. “Ha! Sì, ringraziamenti
The sun set that night to laughter and happy chatter from the pair on the verandah. Her old life was gone, and this was the way she wanted to be. Uncomplicated, living in quiet peace. She would write as soon as she was settled. Her parents and friends would want to know how she’d settled. As far as she was concerned, writing that novel was the best thing she’d ever done.
Please note; The translator will not produce a perfect translation. In most cases it should adequately convey the general sense of the original; however, it is not a substitute for a competent human translator.
For the last time, she closed the door behind her. It would be the last time she would visit this place. For the last time, she checked her reflection in the looking glass in the hallway. For the first time, she let the key slide from her fingertips to drop to the carpeted floor, a well worn walking boot treading it into the floor as she opened the front door, yanking her bag further up her leather covered shoulder. This was it. She wouldn’t be coming back this time. Places she had seen every day of her life, paths she had walked a thousand times passed under the heel of her boot for the last time. Her hair whipped out from under a scruffy cap as the winter wind grabbed strands, tangling the multi toned layers and flicking them before her eyes as though trying to stop her seeing where she was going. As though trying to make her stay.
It was horribly easy to walk to the bus station and order a National Express ticket to London. The bus rumbled and jostled her sleeping form against the window, her legs protectively pulled up to her chest, leaning against the seat in front, bag beside her on the garishly coloured, carpet textured seat. When a man woke her to tell her that he needed the seat, she merely nodded sleepily and shoved the bag down to the floor, going back to sleep immediately.
London was a smelly, busy, roaring place, full of yelling, rude people who shoved past her, eager to get to wherever they were going. She was going to the Airport. Most people ignored the quiet girl with the leather jacket and ripped jeans, cap pulled low over her face, shoving past her as she tucked the money she’d withdrawn from her bank account into her wallet. Airport. Freedom.
She hated flying. Always had, always would.
The sun beat down on her with loving kindness, the sound of the sea and the wind in the trees a blissful riot of her dream. The small villa behind her had all it’s veranda doors and windows flung open to get rid of most of the dust, age old furniture receiving the first kiss of fresh air in decades. She’d been lucky to find this place. E-Bay was such a wonderful thing. Italy was such a beautiful place.
“Hi!” Called a man from a house nearby, the rocky slope no obstacle as he made his way down to her. She looked up with a hand over her eyes. He was young, a little older than her, and handsome.
“Hi!” She called back, smiling.
“You must be the new neighbour?”
“Yes, i am.” She smiled, reaching a hand out to him. He took it, smiling back. “Pleased to meet you, Mister...?”
“Ferenzzo. Domenico Ferenzzo.” The man supplied, “but my friends call me Dom.”
“Pleased to meet you, Dom. My name is...” She hesitated, wondering whether she should give him her real name. No. “…Louise. Louise Ainsworth.”
Dom smiled. “Pleased to meet you, Louise. You look tired. Begun to clean up yet?”
She grimaced, looking up at the villa. “Arrgh, no, and i'm not looking forward to it.” Dom laughed and offered her an arm.
“You only just arrived, i don't blame you. Come, eat with me at my house. I don't have much, but at least it will be something. If you don't mind me saying, i saw you didn't have a lot. Is the rest of your stuff coming over soon?” He asked kindly, showing her to a worn wooden seat beside a table on his verandah. She looked at the table top. “No, not likely, i shouldn't think.” She murmured sadly. Home was behind. The world ahead. Dom frowned, looking apologetic. “I've upset you. I'm sorry, Louise.” She looked up, smiling, all traces of sadness gone. “No! No, you didn't. I'm just tired from the flight. I'm starting again here, making a new life. I'll get everything i need from the town.” She explained, waving her hands about animatedly. Dom nodded, placing two chipped mugs down with a jar of something. “Wine?” He asked with a grin. She grinned back. “Ha! Yes, thanks. God knows i need some!
The sun set that night to laughter and happy chatter from the pair on the verandah. Her old life was gone, and this was the way she wanted to be. Uncomplicated, living in quiet peace. She would write as soon as she was settled. Her parents and friends would want to know how she’d settled. As far as she was concerned, writing that novel was the best thing she’d ever done.
Snake (hebi/hebidoshi) -
People born in the year of the Snake are deep thinkers, speak very little and possess tremendous wisdom. They are fortunate in money matters and will always be able to obtain it. They are determined in what they do and hate to fail.
Your element is Water: Understanding, intelligent, quiet and calm. You know who you are and no one can change that. Usually quiet but only because your listening, don't let anyone think you haven't got an opinion! Your not quiet because your shy or sad, your usually quiet because you are thinking. Your answers are well planned and helpful so people generally seek your advice. Your the perfect balance between solitary and outgoing. But sometimes you need a little time to yourself to sort out your emotions and figure things out. You understand the phrase 'sticks and stone' and rarely let things get to you. What's that important for you to have to get so upset over? You know what you want out of life but are simply taking your time and enjoying things. To you your life is fine as it is, you can always change things later if your not happy.
Someone Else, Somewhere Else, Something Else.
Sitting on the sand, she feels tendrils of hair whipping gently at the sides of her face, in her eyes as she stares out to sea. With a small, barely audible sigh, she tucks the offending hair behind her ear and leans back into the dune, tugging the collar of her coat further up, sheilding herself from the elements.
Gray eyes narrow as she watches a small child running towards the sea, parentless.
Suddenly, a shout, and a mother comes dashing across, scooping the child up in her arms, cooing to the babe softly.
A wry grin twists plain features as the girl remembers running away from her mother.
Time slips away, the tide getting closer and closer to her spot in the sheltering dunes. The girl doesn't move, leaning back into the firm sand with her arms folded over her chest for warmth, chin tucked into the scarf wound around her neck, legs pulled towards her chest to keep a firm stand, she continues to sit still, slowly losing feeling in her fingers and toes. "Miss?"
Looking poilitely at the old man, she raises her eyesbrows slightly. "You alright? You've been sittin' here for a while."
A small smile, and; "I'm alright, thank you."
He looks unsure, craggy face confused and worried. She smiles warmly, sadly. "I'm alright, Sir. I'm thinking."
"I see...well...h
"You too."
She watches him walk away, a quiet strength in his old steps. Tilting her head, she ponders what kind of a life he'd led, what he'd acheived. Old people were interesting things. Turning her head, she gazes back out to sea. It was calming here. Somewhere she could sit and not worry about anything in the world. Somewhere she could escape to. It was a sorry moment when she stood and brushed off her faded, torn jeans and headed for the busstop on the hill. It meant that she had to stop pretending and go back to her life. It wasn't that it was a bad life. In fact, she had it a lot better than some, but it was nice to pretend, just for a little while, that she was someone else, somewhere else, something else.