Live Life Abundantly - a path of words with no direction

Sometimes I write just to write, just to let words slip out of me onto paper or screen.  Maybe it is to free up some room inside of me to allow more creations to reside within me, maybe it is because there is point, a need, a lesson to be told in the form of a story....who knows , I dont !!

I almost feel mean posting this because it would appear to be a beginning of something, but it goes nowhere and I have no idea if more of it exists, but it came out of me, so there must be a reason for it.  So I place it here to remember it and maybe i will come back to write more of it, or maybe I wont. 

So I apologise for presenting you with a path built of words that goes nowhere.

xxsm

Live life Abundantly.

She was called August Moon but her real name was Annabelle Martin.

She was 8 years old the morning that she awoke and decided to live her life abundantly and with wild abandon. Her long wavy hair hung mid way down her back and as the heat of the day increased so did the tightness of the spiral curls. She had eyes the colour of the clouds in the late summer storms, all deep and purple blue. It had been four years now since her Mother had died and four years since she had last laughed. She knew it broke the hearts of those who loved her and she really wished they would believe her when she told them that she could not remember how to laugh. A long time ago she had decided that with her mothers passing a piece of her had been irrevocably lost and she had stopped looking for it.  Last night however had changed all of that.

She left the shelter of the porch that wrapped around the century old house that she shared with her father and her grandmother. The sun was not long risen and the morning smelled fresh and full of promise. Last nights dew still sat upon the jasmine which wound itself around the uprights of the porch, errant vines trailing the air as though straining to touch the sky. She paused for a moment and closed her eyes, long dark eyelashes rested upon her cheeks and she breathed deeply and for the first time in as long as she could remember she smiled and her heart felt lighter than it had in forever. August Moon was awoken from her reverie by the attentions of her cat, Belle as she wound herself between her legs, pushing hard against her demanding her attention. August immediately bent down and scooped the grey and white cat into her arms and as she walked towards the gardens she bent her head to the cats ear and whispered to her how much she loved and adored her furry friend. Belle lay comfortably cradled in her arms, squeezing her eyes tight in pleasure and purring loudly at the devoted attention.  When August reached the gardens she bent down and placed Belle down upon the soft deep green lawn and petted her back as the little cat made her way into the foliage to succumb to the hypnotic warmth of her favourite sleeping spot.

Her mother had always been an avid gardener, she believed in surrounding herself and those she loved with beauty and peacefulness and this was the most prevalent in the extraordinary gardens that were now a part of her legacy. The large grounds were dotted with tall mature trees that had existed before the property was even built. The house was 102 years old and the trees had been planted in 1901 the same year that her great grandparents had purchased the land and 6 years before construction on the large house had begun. The trees, a mix of European stock were majestic and proud rising high above the landscape and providing areas of rest and shelter and beauty to the Martin family for four generations now. August carefully made her way into one of the garden beds and made her way to the rear of the plot. Growing carefully and quietly beside a large rhododendron tree was the plant she was looking for. Its cascading yellow flowers placed upon the back of the wind the most alluring scent imaginable. August Moon once again closed her eyes and breathed deeply and once again, the second time today and for the second time in the last four years,  her beautiful creamy face burst open with a smile that arose from her very heart.

The deep yellowy orange flowers of the honeysuckle were her Grandmothers favourite flower and it was for this reason alone that she had arisen early before the house stirred and made her way, barefoot, over the dewy damp grass. August reached inside the pocket of her lilac dress and brought out a pair of small gardening shears and proceeded to cut cascading blooms of honeysuckle. She stopped only when she could hold no more in her small hands, hands which had been pointed out to her throughout the course of her short life to be exact replicas of her mothers. She had long slender fingers and the skin was pale and creamy, just like fresh cows milk her father would say as he held one of her small hands between his two large work worn hands, then he would get a sad faraway look in his eyes and eventually, with some effort he would lift her hands to his lips and gently kiss the back of them. He would then look at her with a half smile tugging the corner of his mouth and touch his hand to her hair and half whisper to her that "...an August Moon was a beauty to behold whether it was high in the night sky or tip-toeing around his house." , then he would chuckle quietly at this old joke that had been shared between them hundreds of times and bend his head back to the work that lay spread out before him on the worn but well maintained desk.