To blog or not to blog…the power of words

He has an honourable stance, respected among his own kind.

The Stallion

This has been my dilemna of late. To share one’s thoughts, ideas and emotions with complete strangers and not just one or two but opening up your toolbox of thoughts to the universe. Today, however, I have decided to share a snippet of a short story I have written. I welcome your feedback, thus I throw my words out to you to be critiqued by those I do not know.

‘The stallion, now settled, stood still. His frame was strong and muscular, the sweat had turned into dry white foam covering his muscles. John began to walk him quietly to the small paddock he’d had the farm hands prepare today. The sun’s last ochre rays lit the darkening sky as John cautiously took off the purpose made noose. One of the rules in the horse industry was never show fear, as a horse can sense it a mile away. John had been breeding race horses for years and was well accustomed to this rule, he knew the beasts like the back of his hand. Once freed from the rope the stallion galloped off with fury and mounting confidence in his stride. He pranced; he swayed his head back and forth and put on a spectacular show. He pawed the grass and overturned the fresh soil, glad to be out of the confines of the float and away from human hands’.

Words there are so many and so much we can do with them, oh,the power of words…til next time…

Why being ‘Country Touched’ means more

Leaving behind the eternal city…

As an adjunct to yesterday’s blog ‘Country Touched’ I thought it opportune to talk about how I came to spend a year in Tasmania.
After much deliberation and careful planning which included selling our apartment in Rome, giving up our jobs (we were both self employed) and with a six year old and a babe in arms we took on the high spirited challenge to come to Australia to live permanently. We brought some worldy possessions with us in a container which arrived 6 weeks after us. Fortunately, we were able to live in mum and dad’s B&B which was fully equipped with everything. It was a great way to start.
For me it was a return to my homeland and for my Roman husband it was leaving behind his.

It is not easy to leave one’s home. What remains is the residue of token moments shredded into fragmented recall of time spent with family and friends. One tends to live in the past constantly reminiscing about what was and what was left behind. Don’t get me wrong taking the plunge and leaving your country is because you crave the adventure and something new or different from what you know. At least that was what it was for me when armed for adventure I left Australia. But after 10 years living in a foreign country. Which was always a foreign country even though I did call it home for 10 years it was not the country I was born in or did it have my close knit family. After the birth of my son, my second child, I felt alone and depressed partly because the hormones had kicked in with vengeance but also quite simply I missed the simplicity of the simple Australian life. I was born and bred in Sydney but when mum and dad purchased a thoroughbred horse stud in the North West of Tasmania, I fell in awe of the country life and land every time I holidayed with my little girl.

So now I’ll take you back to yesterday’s blog and hope that today it may make more sense to those who had wondered where it all began or how it had become….

In Rome getting close to nature is impossible and when you eventually come into contact with it, you are in essence ‘Country Touched’.
If my first novel memoir ever gets published then I do have plans to write a book about my year in Tasmania down the beaten track because it was an adventure splashed with the exploration of unknown territory in a little isle perched closest to Antarctica.

Thanks for reading…

Country Touched

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The blue sky hangs high over the grassy field. The noise of galahs and cockatoos breaks the silence as they fly by watching and listening. A new day has begun.
Within the hour, Dave will let the cattle into their new yard. It’s certainly in need of a trimming. The sun kissed mountains are illuminated in the background and the frost dampened grass squelches beneath my boots. Bending down, I gently caress the wet strands between my fingertips. Soon, the hungry cattle will dine on this scrumptious feast.
I love the Australian countryside; the crispness in the air and the authenticity that each new day brings.
Nature and her tunes unfold as regularly as the strongest heartbeat. © wordjotter
(Memories of a year in Tasmania)