Ankling on #2 News Years Morning-Welcome 2022♡

Ankling on #2 News Years Morning-Welcome 2022♡

It has been two or so weeks since I returned from hospital.

My broken ankle and surgery to which I graciously adopted a plate and several screws into my ankle has not set in as much.

The feeling of a material that was part of the great industrial revolution in Australia, feel ever so foreign to me (excuse the pun?)

On a dry Summer day, not that long ago I had to get my temporary cast replaced with the more secure, strong four week cast set.

Amongst the hustle and bustle of the orthopaedic ward, a nurse buzzed passed and handed me a a keyring of cast colour samples.

This was new to me.

For a brief moment I thought I was picking curtains at a drapery.

With a some what vast selections of colours, I decided on the reassuring, somewhat comforting colour pink.

With my cast colour decided, the surgeon and nurses removed my temporary cast and unveiled my bare broken ankle.

I could barely glance upon the damage.

Two incisions seared into either side of my ankle. Sharp, precist lines roughly run 10cms up my ankle.

A bruise lakes around the heel of my foot. I gather myself from wooziness as I advert my eyes as they wrap and realign my ankle.

I hobble on New Years Eve.

The heat sweltering and swelling my leg. Medical attire that is most certainly not designed for the cruel Australian Heat.

When the weather is just perfect for a skate. I long to glide.

To feel the eucalyptus scented breeze dance through my hair.

As the days of healing go on, one step at a time….

I countdown the days,

ever so gently to which I can safely place both feet back upon the ground.

But, aye.

I think we all have that inner yearning.

Happy New Year all.

May 2022 guide you with love and light.

#8? Stream of conciousness

#8? Stream of conciousness

Lakeside view, pelicans glide along the stillness of the water. Damp sea grass taints the delicate breeze. Little dog taps along, sniffing and snuffing questionable things. Clouds flow above, breaking every now and then to let the sun sneak through. Jet skis buzz whilst the boats do hum. Rolling hills ever varying shades of green. Sea birds squawk and squirm in-between their daily hunt. Lakeside view. Always a tantalising scene you be.

#7 stream of conciousness

#7 stream of conciousness

Uber travels, bumpy road. Air tinged with smoke. Nauseating aroma. Cars. Cars. Cars, homeward bound. Motion sickness creeps on in. Phone, typing, pot holes jagger on. Radio sound, white noise voices. Mainstream Radio overrated. Talk. Talk. Talk, nothing smart is said. Traffic light. Red arrow. Can not turn. Coffee sign, craving caffeine. Benches empty. Roads are full. Typing, typing. I have typed.

#6 Stream of Consciousness

#6 Stream of Consciousness

If we heard the world like we hear music, would we be so self absorbed? The sound of fear? ears would bleed. Screams echoing….echoing in ours speakers. Brainwashing. Repetition, constantly recycled, forever scrolling, moments blurry, missed memories forever haunting. Kindness? Barely. Self-entitled prima donnas. Hands over eyes, phones half way down our throats, choking, suffocating on these likes and hearts and everything in-between. We have been designed for this, slowly, slowly moulded to fit inside a square, always rated, always judged, right from when we were just bubs. If you don’t match? You’re outmatched. predisposition to failure. Human instinct out the window, failure will seep in.