Surrendering himself to his new bride’s touch He stands, his entire body yearning Almost melting into her But giving in, allowing As she slowly explores His strong, beautiful young body…..
And she…..glides slender fingers Across his skin, so slowly Delaying, extending her pleasure And his…. Until she turns, faces him Looks down, then up into his face His slanted dark blue eyes Her wanting matching his Sees him quivering with desire
She loosens the ties of her shift And he moves quickly Wraps strong arms around and lifts Carries her willing To their marriage bed Enters her then, pleasures her Until their voices cry out together On that night when first they wed.
I wake to the salty tang of it Dress quickly Breakfast can wait Already the pavement burns under My summer hardened feet It’s going to be hot Dropping my towell on the warm sand I run towards the sparkling waves Everything shimmers Silvery/Blue /Green In the morning sunlight Running in, diving, gasping With the shock of cold The taste of salt The slap of wavelets Against my skin……
The little Thrush worked tirelessly…..a Falcon had killed her mate and so she left the nest making swift forays to feed herself, never going too far away….. returning to her three speckled eggs. Then one day as she flew in and perched on the rim, the nest had changed…..one very large egg had been placed right in the centre. Her mothering instincts accepted the new egg, and she adjusted her body to fit the new shape….the largest egg a protruding lump, beneath her. Days turned to weeks….her life was difficult with no mate to feed her, but her only conscious thought was the protection of her eggs…..all of them. They cheeped to her as she sat, her soft belly feathers a constant protective warmth around them….she spoke back, bending her neck, turning the eggs with her delicate beak, mothering.
One by one they hatched, three perfect replicas of herself and her mate, and one huge exception. Now finding food on her own took her all day. The largest chick was insatiable, greedily pushing in, taking from the others. The little mother was barely eating herself, her body just soft brown feathers and fragile bones. Each return to the nest, there was one less Thrush baby, but driven by instinct she kept feeding the remaining chicks….feeding the interloper.
The days passed, Spring turned to Summer….exhausted from the constant search for food, she landed, crop filled to feed her nestlings as dusk descended on the day. One chick remained, the Cuckoo …..beak opened, its voracious appetite demanding, as she disgorged her feed into its gaping beak.
The Cuckoo outgrew the mother, pushing her aside in the nest with vicious little pecks, yet still she flew back and forth, feeding it. It grew flight feathers, sat on the rim of the nest flapping its wings, hopping back and forth with tiny practise flights, constantly pecking the small mother, as it grew bigger, stronger.
And then one sunny summers day, it flew….bold and strong, straight out through the protective cover of branches into the flight path of the same Falcon, who seized it with strong talons and carried it away to feed its hungry nestlings.
The little thrush sat quietly on the rim of the nest, preening her feathers. Nearby, she heard the soft siren call of a male. He flew back and forth, courting her and in the fullness of time, she left the nest behind….flew with him to a secret glade far, far away, to begin again.
He stood before me At the old church door A vision of such splendour I forgot every promise I’d made before This moment
Strength, beauty, kindness, grace All made clear On his beautiful face In this moment….I forgot my fear My misgivings The husband I’d left only weeks before I forgot my past life Walked up to the door And as he took my arm As he led me inside All I wanted in this moment Was to be his bride
The cuts were deep The blood flowed free The ties that bound us Soaked and bloody I looked up into his clear blue eyes Down at the linen binding ties And cared not for what may come Or what was left behind In this moment I am his He is mine
In this moment Before the Altar Of the new Gods and the Auld I surrendered the past Knew In my soul I was bound to him This would be my last My one, my only love My kin
In this moment In this Sacred place In the eyes looking back at me In his beautiful face
Mine, His There is only this Unexpected Unwanted Unwilling Back then Yet, here, opening up to him There is only this This Holy tie that binds As the Priest intones You my kiss your bride In this moment
I give myself to you now As bloods drips from the ties That bind our vow He is my husband I his wife Bound body and soul Bound for life
Nothing exists Between us now But this This Endless Moment
Denial Recognition Heat Her thoughts of a frantic husband His memory of the warmth of her body On that long, long ride On that dark, wet night Forced back into some strange normality They are separate, yet linked The bindings of twin souls He knows it, and so does she They are children of the stars From now, for all Eternity
You’ve gone too far this time They say How far is too far I ask them then Is this far enough? And I start covering myself In layers of Not far enough I PILE THEM ON !!! The weight is unbearable Heaviness Claustrophobic So heavy, my knees give, and bowed down towards the ground I give in Completely Is this ok I ask, voice dry and broken? Yes…..this is good Good good girl.
I FELL IN LOVE WITH JAMES FRASER through Claire’s eyes; as the main narrator she describes him in such fine detail, I know the essence of the man….through Diana’s descriptive prose and my very keen sense of smell, I too could pick him out of a crowded room of men, simply by his smell……a mixture of coffee, whisky, gunpowder, horses and manure, his sweat…..the deep male smell of him. His long graceful bones, the way his mane of copper russet bronze and auburn hair, lifts in stray wisps about his face, because he is either fiercely animated, or like a lions mane, falling around his shoulders in the frenzied passion of love making. The quirk of his mouth, his wry humour, courage, honour and accomplishments. A unique talent for absorbing both people, learning and languages into his life. A man of big passions, ferocious loyalties and all encompassing generosity.
I FELL IN LOVE WITH JAMIE through Claire’s eyes, until so deeply absorbed in the “more real than life” story, Claire fell away. I was Claire…..living, loving, breathing him in, waiting for him to return from battle, from hunting, from visits with neighbouring Cherokee or working alongside him, and healing him.
AND THEN I FELL IN LOVE AGAIN, through Roger’s eyes. Roger knows Jamie when he arrives at Frasers Ridge….Roger, the “dog with a bone” Historian, has been hearing Claire’s story, researching Jamie’s History…..Culloden, Ardsmuir, Helwater. He has already developed a relationship with Jamie, two hundred years before he meets him (Yes my mind gets tied in knots too)!!! Before Claire leaves Inverness for the second time, Roger finds her fast asleep in the Reverend Wakefield’s Study, clutching the Ardsmuir Prison Records to her breast, her heart….he has a deep affection for Claire, and says to her sleeping figure, and to the long dead Jamie, “I don’t know who you were mate”, he whispered to the unseen Scot, “but you must have been something, to deserve her.”
And then there follows the catastrophic mess, through Lizzie’s mistaking Roger for the monster who has violated Brianna…..we know what follows, and once the two men have come to terms with each other, something beautiful happens.
ROGER AS NARRATOR won me over in a completely new way. He sees Jamie from a very different perspective. There’s understandingly, in the beginning, lingering resentment, but that changes subtly to begin with, as the two men take the measure of each other. I’m often brought to unexpected tears, by Roger’s reference to Jamie as “the big Scot.” Why should that make me cry??? I think it’s the knowledge of how much suffering that big body has gone through….and, for some reason those words are a trigger for tears. Roger refers to Jamie’s “panther like grace”, he wants his approval, and can’t help the jealousy he experiences around Jamie. One vivid description is of Jamie standing back, eyeing Roger dispassionately, as though he were buying a bullock at the saleyards. This comes about when Roger asks him “Teach me to fight.” There’s some brilliantly witty dialogue that follows with Jamie telling Roger he had his first sword at five…..Roger had a toy train with a red engine at the same age. But Roger is equally stubborn, also a man of learning and finally a deal is made. He describes his first experience with “the art of the sword, with Jamie Fraser as his opponent, as like fighting a cloud.” But Jamie develops a strong affection and respect for Roger, and during the Ritualised Ceremony of The Fiery Cross, when Jamie calls out to him, “Come stand by me, Roger Jeremiah, son of my house”, there is a fierce pride and a belonging, a love for his Warrior Father-in-Law.
There is too much to include here. Roger as Narrator, brings James Fraser to life, in vivid detail that naturally is completely different to Claire’s. A man’s observation that also at times is unemotionally clinical in his Historian’s viewpoint of Jamie.
I LOVED JAMIE FRASER EVEN MORE, viewing him through Roger’s descriptive narration.
Returning to this rare gem, just this week. Directed by Alan Rickman, his final Film. Abundantly beautiful, with the extravagant wit and sardonic humour that is at the heart of Alan Rickman’s body of work.