Between Fresh Sheets and Unwritten Words
- Sally Somerton
- Jun 14
- 2 min read
I told myself I was taking the day off.
A proper day off.
The kind I encourage others to take,
as part of our self-care.
A slow walk to meet my husband and the dogs,
coming back from the beach.
Coffee on the terrace.
Watching sunlight play on the cliffs.
Listening to birdsong.
A delicious roast lunch cooked with love.
A simple day.
Or so I thought.
Then I remembered...
I'd stripped the bed.
Done the laundry.
Hung it out.
Cleaned the windows.
Brought the washing in.
Folded it.
Remade the bed.
Pleased with myself that it was such a good drying day.
So much for "doing nothing."
But perhaps that's the point.
Life is rarely found at either end of the spectrum.
Not all doing.
Not all being.
Just the constant dance between the two.
Especially when our bodies live with limits,
that our minds still occasionally forget.
And somewhere amongst the fresh sheets and fluttering laundry,
I've also been wrestling with words.
Poems.
A themed series of them.
For my little narrating debut, won't you know!
The strange thing is, poetic prose usually arrives with ease,
like an old friend quietly letting themselves in the back door.
And poetry?
Poetry is often the gatecrasher, bull-dozing its way in uninvited,
boisterously interrupting my thoughts..
Now, when I invite it, it plays coy..
The harder I chase the words, the faster they run.
Perhaps they are waiting for me to stop looking for them.
Like shy birds,
they land only when the garden is quiet.
Or perhaps the poems are teaching me the same lesson my body
has spent years teaching me:
Not everything can be forced.
Some things arrive when we finally stop chasing them.
So today I shall celebrate both the doing and the being.
The clean windows.
The fresh sheets.
The roast lunch.
Those stubborn, unwritten words.
Because all of it is life.
Messy.
Imperfect.
Ordinary.
And beautifully alive.
Sally Somerton - Island Writer
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