Mabh Savage
Words and the world passing by; how it sings to me; how I clamour back.
October
It’s the first of October
It’s a rainy day
It’s rescuing birds from cats
It’s snuggling in a blanket while writing
It’s letting the kids binge on films
It’s not worrying about hanging the washing out
It’s piles of procrastination
It’s thinking about putting the heating on
It’s fallen oak leaves and conkers and getting stuck in brambles
It’s slick mud
It’s switching my ASMR feed to crackling fires
It’s the approach of Samhain
It’s bats and spiders and ghost in shop windows
It’s darkening and deepening
It’s October.
Autumn Equinox and the GLAD Study
The autumn equinox is a time for pause and reflection. It’s that moment of balance; darkness is about to take over, and before too long, the nights will noticeably outweigh the days. It’s a time to take stock, just as traditionally, the equinox would have been a time to ensure stocks for the winter were sufficient to survive until spring.
My reflections this autumn equinox are focused around my mental health. This year, in particular, has been challenging. There have been plenty of trials and tribulations, but even when times have been joyous, my depression has left me achingly low and my anxiety has left me crippled with indecision and panic attacks.
With that in mind, I’ve decided that doing something potentially positive is the way forward. I’ve joined up for GLAD, a study into the genetic links between anxiety and depression. Many medical professionals have postulated different ideas to me about mental health issues. Some state that it’s all to do with chemical imbalances, and give coping mechanisms. Others say it’s to do with trauma, and we talk about that and try and pull it to pieces whilst putting me back together.
I don’t have the answers. I’m not any better, although I’m perhaps a little more confident and sure of myself after my last run of therapy. So, by providing my DNA sample (saliva) to this study, I hope I can help provide answers for others.
Anyone interested in the study can join up here. Have a wonderful autumn equinox.
Autumn Colours
A link back to last autumn, and the bright colours that entranced us.
Merry Equinox!
via Autumn Colours
Intermittent Cloud, Some Showers
I need to take inspiration
From the one year old
She is a joy storm
Crashing delight
Like waves against
My sinking ship
Lightning smiles
Hurricane howling laughter
My stress
My tears
My depression
Feel worthless
In the sight
Of her happiness
I want to give
The gift of peace
Tranquility
A calm day
And balmy sunshine
Or at least
Intermittent cloud
Some showers
Not that she’s never upset
But her tantrums come and
Go
Gone
Like cumulus nimbus
In a gale
Massive yet fleeting
At only one year old
She has learnt the art
Of letting go
While I can only hope
To tip my barometer
To intermittent cloud
Some showers.
Being a Full Time Writer
Means…
- Still being up at this time
- Veering from research topics as diverse as best restaurants in Richmond, VA to the way the full moon affects the sex drive
- Wine, lots of wine (not compulsory- well, it is for me.)
- Lists that go on forever
- The inability to say “no” to projects because they’re ALL SO NAGDARN EXCITING
- Blankets, cushions, cats
- Insisting that yes, I do need this right now, it’s for a writing thing ssh…
- No, get off, it’s mine!
- Hiding the bodies
The World Creaks
The world creaks
I stand on my step
Suddenly unsteady
As if I felt
The planet
Tilt
Wind teases
Rain taunts
Something is growing
Beneath
The earth warms
The sky cries
And the world
Creaks
Pigeons
The pigeons sat on me
The day I took the train.
I’d seen the old man
A local, perhaps
Or a tourist, but such a lack of
Surprise
At his avian invaders
He stood beneath the sighing sycamore
While feathered rats
Stood politely on arms and shoulders
Then he moved away,
As if nothing of import
Had occurred.
I stood in the same spot
Thinking nothing of it.
Within moments,
Feathery warmth assailed my arms
My shoulders
Then up to my neck
Nuzzling my hair
Then alarm started to set in
As one flew onto
The top of my head.
I felt its claws
Its beak
Hunting for bugs
Scrabbling for purchase
Panic’s knife edge threatened
But I moved carefully
And they gently flew to the ground
Landing in leaves and moss and grass.
The pigeons sat on me
I’d thought the old man special
Gifted
And perhaps he was
For his patience
And perhaps I was too.
