Inside there is everything!

bottle equipment factory fix
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It doesn’t look much from the outside, but inside there is everything! Behind this heavy metal door, which once slammed across her fingers … eek! Up came her shoulders as she winced at the memory. On entering, it occurred to Katie that no matter what the temperature outside – hot as it was on this summer’s day- the temperature in her Dad’s workshop was always the same. She delighted in visiting with the workshop when it was empty. No angry circular saw, threatening to take fingers, good job her Dad was steady. No welding sparks, sizzling and glowing with a drifting stench that hits your nose. She felt pleased her dad cared for himself. No clashing hammer and whirl of wood- chewing drill. He has learnt how to use his tools well, she mused. Feeling full in today’s stillness, this silence had a back drop of a gentle hum from the cylindrical light and the beat and breath of herself. Katie began tinkering. Ruffling in the sawdust rug, to find discarded wood and opening oily dust clad boxes filled with treasure. Her eyes cast about in awe of myriad things, waiting to be useful and myriad tools, waiting to make use of things. With hammer and nails Katie turned her piece of wood into a work of art, leaving it in pride of place on the workbench.

I look at my feet on the floor – the sawdust rug is still there. My Dad’s workshop has changed location, how it feels has not changed at all. Every nook and cranny filled up and it’s all him. My Dad’s steadiness, his care, his strength and ability to make and mend, his big heart emanates from this place. I don’t come in here much now, although when I do it still fills me, Katie spent many an hour breathing it in and tinkering. Leaving her work behind, wanting to know and be known. I believe Katie achieved her goal, I do know and I am known. I don’t need to know anything else. I don’t look much from the outside, but like my Dad and his workshop – inside there is everything!

Catriona Messenger

Evocation

blood moon
Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

Stepping down from the last train I walk home beneath a summer’s velvet, midnight sky. Myriad stars twinkle around a corn coloured moon lighting my way. I catch the scent of her perfume, sweet and soft as a whisper, before I see my mother come to meet me. The evocative fragrance of sweet peas permeates my garden today. Amongst the cabbage and potatoes, riots of multi-hued flowers climb crazily over the canes. Each precious petal as soft as a kitten’s ears.

Mary Younger