Whispers and Wanderings

This poem was inspired by a brief getaway to Flaxton with my sister and brother-in-law. It was a longer journey than anticipated, the motorway was busy with holiday makers, roadworks and heavy goods vehicles, so on arrival we just sat relaxing outside the caravan observing the comings and goings on site. Glass of wine in hand, Helen and I talked as Phil dozed in the heat of the afternoon. As I watched the clouds sailing slowly through the sky, I spotted one that looked exactly like a single, perfect snow white feather.  As I pointed it out to Helen, my mind drifted back to childhood. To Mum telling us that some people believe a white feather to be message sent from heaven or a message of comfort and of hope. Readers of my writing will know that Mum died a number of years ago, but with Dad having just left us, the sight of that feather felt less like a coincidence and more like a reminder of them both - perhaps a message that we are never truly alone. We sat beneath the Yorkshire sk...

Benidorm was never on my wish list of places to visit. But after Dad’s passing this year, everything changed. When Helen and Phil decided to join Dawn and Chris on their annual holiday, they invited me to tag along. Somehow, I knew I needed to be a part of it. The generation above us has disappeared. With no one left to call Mum or Dad, the three of us have suddenly become the older generation. It’s a profound realisation - one that makes you look at your family and realise how easily you can drift apart if you don't make the effort to stay close. So this holiday became our way of doing exactly that.  It wasn't a pilgrimage. It wasn't especially sentimental. It was just five people who have known one another for decades deciding to spend a week together. To laugh, to remember and to make new memories. I arrived as the only single traveller, dubious of our destination and determined not to get in the way of my sisters' enjoyment by being the gooseberry. I needn't hav...