sunday, day seven

and i realize that i am somewhat neglectful when it comes to this particular blog. perhaps my mind is less nomadic than it once was?

no matter, it is indeed sunday, day seven. giving up smoking is one of my somewhat more irregular activities. i give up smoking for one reason only - money. unfortunately, i need the money i spend on cigarettes to do other things.
given a perfect (for me) world in which my bank account held sufficient funds for the varied and interesting uses i have for money ...
well, i would smoke till i choked!
yeah, yeah, i know, how bad it is for human beings to suck in carcinogen filled smoke into their lungs.
i am also fully aware of how bad us smokers smell to the smoke innocent world.
damn, of course i do, how many day sevens have i lived through!
by day seven i can sniff a smoker at fifty yards.

giving up smoking always seems like a good idea at the time. naturally the amount of time for which it seems like a good idea varies.
i have smoked since i was sixteen, that would be - not the recent past! i like smoking and i find it a comfort - who knows why.  the addiction of the body is fairly easy to beat. the addiction of the mind is another matter altogether!

happy birthday

never forgotten
in my heart, always ...

the bravehearts

the sea mist rolls across the irish sea
meandering,methodical and magical
our ailsa rises shrouded from the sea bed
dignified in delicately encroaching darkness
the solitary flashing lighthouse light
a warning or a beckoning bewitching beacon
calling the far away heart to come home
to rise to the inspiration of scotland's call
the wailing bag pipe sounds of blood and history
reminding those far travelled to distant lands
of hearth and home, of highlands and heather
the beauty of her, the enchantment, carried within
the generations lost to the lure of adventure
the exploration of far away places
excitingly exotic, enchanting the bravehearts
who carry within, the memory of a green land
grey days and beating rain, hot broth and baking bread
stone walls, two feet thick, our armour against nature
blessed spring sunshine, lovingly embracing green hills
where the nodding blooms of daffodils
burst vibrant sunshine yellow, scattered by the hand of God
the golden yellow stain of gorse, seeps and slides
across the hills of ayrshire, lighting the landscape
a promise of the pulse of summer, whispering
come home stranger, come home from outwith
breathe once more the hawthorne and the heather
soar with the eagles, follow the call of your blood
home to scotland's green shores and the pride of your history


Copyright © 2011 by Eryll Oellermann

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