The Space Between

The Space Between

The space between

Dark blue and black

Differing shades of forever

Where pointing fingers linger

And eyes do blink

The stuff of dreams gathering

Like nocturnal memories

No lights required

Just open minds

Stardust and magic

Little parcels of eternity

Destiny and hope

Children praying for shooting stars

Adults too

Never has nothing held such value

Here, dwelling in held breaths

And wishes

We wait

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NEVER QUITE THE SAME

We climbed the same hill we had on our first date. Our friends had said it weird to spend our first few hours together sweating our way up a mountain, our little knapsacks bobbing up and down like ducks on our backs. We didn’t care, we were already in love.

I remembered the stile offset at a peculiar angle as though it was yesterday. I had to twist my hips, never a good thing for a man who’d played way too much sport, whereas Caroline took it without even slowing. She was always limber.

The trail grew steeper as if to punish those who’d dared make it this far. I huffed. Caroline puffed. We made it though. We always made it, one way or another.

It was so quiet near the summit I thought the world had fallen asleep. Not a bird in the sky to ruin the mood. Even the trickling streams seemed to have dried for the day. We crested the last rise to a vista of all-encompassing beauty. Nature rolled out before us like an unmade duvet exuding the same comforting patches of warmth. I breathed deep. We both did. Caroline turned and smiled. I returned her gesture with all the kindness I could muster. It wasn’t enough, but at least we’d tried.

We returned to our separate cars in the same silence we’d left them, shook hands and drove away. Such was our life together, polite and purposeless. It’d never be quite the same though. Good.

The End.

Of Sharks and Dreams

Sooner or later we all wish for something unattainable. Perhaps it is a form of self-punishment, an endless agony to prove we still feel? Nevertheless, as we cling to the fairytale with the tenacity of sharks a seal carcass, our eyes wide, teeth bared, we still hope for more. The shark by its nature knows no better. We do. But for us it is harder to let go. At some point the shark will be replete, while our unattainable dream will persist gnawing at our very souls. This is the nature of the unattainable. Yet we may still find peace in the searching if our hearts are open and eyes willing to see, whereas the shark will ever be swimming in circles. Such is life, an endless looping of food and thought.

Influences 4 – Nature

I have always been interested in nature. One of my very first memories was of receiving a book called A Naturalist’s Guide to Great Britain. I still have this book even though it was given on my seventh birthday. I used to peruse the pictures and then try to identify the same things when outdoors. For some reason, and for someone with such a bad memory, most of the nature stuff stuck in my brain particularly birds. I still look for hawks and buzzards every time I go outside.

When I grew older — I won’t say taller — I made a point of visiting and holidaying in places that were linked with natural beauty. I’ve been lucky in visiting such wonderful countries as Norway, Austria, Switzerland and Sweden as well as many others renowned for their scenery. I have loved them all. I think this is why I love a view and at some point in the future, if ever I could afford a permanent one, it would mean more to me than any amount of material possessions.

There are two things that have brought me peace of mind. The first is writing — I honestly hate to think where I would be without creating. The second would be when I’ve been as far away from other people as I could get: the top of the Eiger in Switzerland and the Arctic Circle. I dream of those two individual things being one. I love it quiet and I love stunning scenery.

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Wengen Switzerland

Author’s Note: If I remember, I’ll write a post about my visiting the Ice Hotel in Sweden, having to go to the loo in the middle of the night in nothing but my boxer shorts and a pair of trainers and walking past a bar full of very drunk people. They went quiet. I went red.

I have concerns about whether the next generation and certainly the ones after them, will be able to admire as much natural beauty as I have. This worry is probably reflected in a lot of my short writing for WordPress and with more subtlety in my long-form work. I become frightened whenever I consider the consequences of our acts. So much now rests in the hands of humanity and those hands are greased and sweaty.

Life is a delicate balance, a see-saw in a hurricane one might say. Life is colour and sound and texture and the sum of our collective imaginations. Life is also a constant source of inspiration and nature personifies it. I’m not sure what I would do without a few green trees, unkempt hedges and a stream or two. I wouldn’t write the same as I do, that’s for sure. Food for thought.

Thank you for reading

Richard

Richard M. Ankers / Author of The Eternals Series

The Eternals

Hunter Hunted

Into Eternity (Soon!)

Is?

Is this it
Is this life
Take a job
Take a wife
Wiping eyes
In starlight
Shun the sun
Love the night
Is this all
Is there more
Am I dead
On the floor
Give me hope
Give me love
Give me signs
From above
And I’ll do
All I can
All I have
Is this man
But it’s all
That I own
In my mind
Is my home
Where the skies
Burn in gold
And the snow’s
Never cold
And our dreams
Can come true
Is this me
Is this you
Yes, I hope
And I pray
In my eyes
You will stay
As you’re all
That I am
All that’s real
With this man
So I’m back
To the start
With my hopes
And my heart
Is this it
Is this life
Thanking God
You’re my wife

Bubbles of Us.

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The end of time; I had hoped for so much more.

A myriad bubbles each a universe, or more, popped in and out of existence in a never ending stream of imperfection. Someone tried so hard to get one right, a perfect copy of the breath it was breathed from, but failed. They always failed. A billion species travelled the eternal night each hoping to be better than the next, each praying for continued life. The irony: not one knew of the other, nor of their failings. These peoples of the cosmos, of the very timestreams, were born to fail. They, we, never stood a chance.

Were we no more than the exhalations of a bored God, who sought to send a little piece of He into infinity? I could not answer that question, but had to believe there was more. If just one of those universes could reach the freedom of the other side, the place I had travelled from, then perhaps, just perhaps, they would flourish in a way we had not.

I’d seen everything on my voyage, the beginning, the end, and all that lay in between and yet still I claimed no answers. Was a life spent dreaming of a better place, a brighter tomorrow, to be snuffed out by an unfelt cosmic breeze? Was I to be no more than another tiny atom of someone else’s dream?

I wiped the tears from my eyes and flicked my sorrow into the space between creation and death. That was my legacy to those who I had promised to free, tears. Perhaps there was no more fitting a tribute to He who had formed us than the sorrow of one knowing he should never meet Him. Not in any of His realties, anyway.

A last glance even though I told myself it was a mistake, and I climbed back into my ship of temporal displacement. The readout said ‘The End of all Things’. How right it was, as I pressed the ruby button for home and those I had left to die.

50 Word Stories: Lammergeier

How long I’d hoped to see you, Lammergeier. Some called you the bearded vulture, but I always thought it disparaging. You were better than that. You were my own personal, mountain dream.

Now, you cower before me, bedraggled and caged. The rain wets your feathers. The rain wets my eyes.