成人快手

Chuffed tae wee tiny bits I am. In case ye dinnae ken, this wee beastie is a Hunic bow, leather wrapped, 38lb draw weight, absolutely gorgeous thing it is and I love it! ----> Huge grin here.

Noo, nae car is safe frae yours truly........;-)

I dinnae dae girly decor really.....*grins*

Hi, my name`s Hermit and I`m an insomniac...*giggles and goes back to seat now*
Seriously...had insomnia since my teens. Will go for a couple of months at a stretch being able to sleep normally, though am still always an early riser, being up at 5am most mornings, no matter what time I go to bed.
Then the bouts of insomnia happen and not only do I find it incredibly hard to go to sleep, but I wake some two/three hours later and that`s it, couldn`t be more wide awake yet knackered with it, if I tried.
Horrible thing, insomnia, as any other insomniac will tell you.
You ever notice how there is bugger all on the tv for us insomniacs? We don`t all have satellite tv, y`know...
so come on Beeb, how about catering for us sleep deprived folks eh?
We`re not all doing Open University courses...we don`t all wanna hear the same news being repeated ad infinitum...
how about some decent films that aren`t of the noir (read, dark and depressing) variety, or some great reruns of 70`s shows, I remember them you see and wouldn`t mind those being repeated. Hey, I pay my license, so am supposed to be allowed to have a say......
But most nights I don`t turn the tv on. Or read...must invest in some new books, think I have read all mine at least twice over and I do have a sizeable collection....
Some nights, weather permitting, I go out for a walk.
Like I did this past night/dawn.
So I got to see the sky lit like a softly glowing fire with the sun just below the horizon still, all rose gold and pink and warm looking despite the chill in the crisp air.
And I got to appreciate being alone in a sleeping world on a tiny island under that sky as I watched herons glide in to land on the pond at the side of the track and take their places like old fishermen beside the water.
And I got to listen to the sound of the sea kiss the shore softly in the still, calm air, and wonder how, even though we`re a quiet place here, I rarely hear that sound during the day.
There`s a special magic to early morning light. It seems, somehow, fresher, cleaner, new, unlike the faded rose light of an evening. This one seems full of promise for the day ahead.
I do like sunlight.
So there are plusses, to insomnia, I suppose....walking alone beneath a vast sky with only birds for company and the song of the waves in your ears is worth at least a little of the weariness.

And then the island begins to wake up, beasts start to complain at needing fed/milked/watered, people get into cars and fishing boats and the magic of silence is smothered again for a peedie while.
But no doubt tomorrow morning, weather permitting, yours truly will be out again watching the sunrise and enjoying the space and peace and solitude of an island morning.


*footnote* insomnia excuses my very frequent blonde days. Thank you for understanding...*winks**

That`s just a fact, we do....
so meself and Mrs Sanday Housewife took oorselves off tae mainland on the ferryboat ...cannae even remember what day that wis!...that is how guid a time we had...(or it could chust be auld age...*blushes*) and spent three days on mainland, thon wild and dangerous place ower the water frae this tiny wee island ca`d Sanday....
Aside frae the cauld, the journey in and back wasnae too bad, nae raging seas, nae winds, woohoo! (ye can tell I`m no` liking the winds ower much, right?) and we went tae bide wi` me daughter and her family, puir long suffering souls they are wha deserve a medal for putting up wi` us...because yours truly and Mrs Sanday Housewife are chust the worst pair o` gigglers ye ever met...
seriously...half o` it is undoubtedly doon tae being an insomniac, it kind o steals what little brain ye hae left and replaces it wi that o a five year auld...so the daftest things strike ye as hilarious and total strangers, puir unsuspecting tourists tae mainland Orkney, are detouring widely aroond twa giggling, doubled-ower-wi-it, wimin in the middle o Kirkwall as we looked in the shop window at the bonny amber jewellery there and said "Dae ye think they`d notice if we chust broke the window and took it?" and then, being sleep deprived, actually began to look aroond tae see if there were ony CCTV cameras there!
Noo, dinnae worry folks, that behaviour was only chust the sleeplessness (and the fact yours truly might be reliving her childhood yet again) and we wouldnae really have done onything like that....
it was chust the looks on the faces o` some passers by that got us giggling...
ahem..onyway, that wasnae the half o it...
daughter decides tae tak her mam and her mam`s pal oot for a night on the toon.
Man, isn`t Kirkwall quiet on a Monday night tho!
Deserted streets, nae traffic even....and by the time we left tae gaun back tae the car, yours truly was a wee bit...erm..wobbly...but still giggling....and thon streets were still deserted which is only a guid thing given how I spied the biggest crane I`d ever seen and wondered oot loud if I could hotwire it and tak it hame wi me.....*blushes again*
tae which me daughter, sober, respectable, and nae doubt embarrassed by her mam`s behaviour, telt me tae shush, as CCTV cams also hae microphones...no quite sure if she was kidding, but chust in case, I shut up..eventually, after waving at one o them and cracking up again....

Noo, I hae left oot a guid deal o stuff here for the sake o` propriety...oh dinnae get me wrong, nothing I should be hanging me heid in shame for! But chust stuff o` the kind that has yer bairns shaking their heids at ye and goin "For crying oot loud mam, behave yersel!"
And that is a guarantee that I had a guid time...*winks*

Onyway, in between shopping til we dropped ..well, that`s no true, I could hae shopped for at least another twa days...and rescuing Mrs Sanday Housewife frae an evil spider in the automatic door o one building, I amused the daughter and her family by telling jokes. Hey, at least I thought they were funny...nae idea why naebody else was laughing tho..nae sense o humour some folks...must hae been cos it was sae late, being half one in the morning, like....

See noo, what happens when ye tak a chance on goin tae thon wild place ca`ed mainland Orkney? Chust shouldnae be allowed for us puir, sheltered, innocent ooter north islanders...so let this be a cautionary tale for ye a`....

(am goin back next Monday tae dae it again tho.....)

For, hey, am blonde, female, ye expect me tae ken that? Just wondered though why good weather late in the year gets called an Indian summer?
Onyway...Saturday...the day I`m writing this..was fantastic...sunny and warm until late afternoon when it clouded ower a peedie bit...but there is nae wind and it`s a bonny enough evening oot there.
I went oot shooting wi` me bonny new Hunic bow! I love that creature! We hae the target set up in the back bit field just inside the doors o the hay byre, wi` the hay bales ahind it...this is so I dinnae keep wrecking me arrows when I miss...*blushes*
Trouble is, there`s a massive oak lintel above the byre doors, so guess wha` hit that insteid...? Aye, that`s right...
so...me...five foot nothing...lintel...some seven foot high...ok.....
but it was the only wan that hit sae wild, and was entirely due tae me ain lack o concentration, and hey, at least I didnae hit the car again. *grins happily*
*bow geek alert coming now*...can I chust say how much I think the Hunic is the best bow since sliced breid!? Fantastic thing it is, easy enough tae use, nae poncy gadgets like sights or weights etc tae throw at it, ye chust hae the bow itself and yer ain skill.
And yours truly DID hit the target a fair bit, ye ken, so I cannae be a that bad noo can I?
Aside frae that I had a driving lesson off a family friend wha is probably regretting saying "aye" tae it noo.....of course in his defense though, it probably helps if I dinnae shut me een at ony passing tractors....especially when I`m still driving forward....
but I didnae hit onything, and didnae put the car in the ditch like I did one time, and got back hame a in wan piece, so no sic a bad day.
Got another lesson tomorrow, when I`ll be driving doon tae Loth pier and back, would hae posted this as a warning tae ony Sanday folk that might read it but it`s the weekend so naebody here tae publish it til Monday, when I will be off again tae the big bad mainland so ony...erm..mishaps...on the road willnae be reported until I get back....IF I ever admit tae them...which I probably will, nae shame me...
Hoping a`body is haeing a grand weekend, and the weather keeps sae bonny. Ye should a get bows and get oot there and hae as much fun as ye can! For ony women wi` pmt, it`s guaranteed therapy and for ony men, it`s a guaranteed testosterone high tae be shooting onything, even if it`s chust a static target. Or a car.

On days like this ye just want tae stop the world for a peedie while and just stand and stare.
Here is my wee island this morning ye see.....
In the east, ower the fields, the sun lies just below the horizon. But she throws oot jewels o red and pale pinks, orange and gold and the light o it flows ower the fields, noo shorn o their crops and waiting for winter.
There`s no a breath o wind oot there so there`s a hush ower the isle that is nearly tangible, a special quiet it is, afore folks get up and oot and aboot daeing what they dae for the days work.
But for noo, it`s fine and calm and if ye gaun oot in it, ye can feel like the only person awake, and standing beneath that huge colourful sky can mak ye feel awfy peedie....
The sea, whipped up intae a moody rage by the past few days winds, is still choppy and rough looking, wi white horses riding the deeper slate roads o it, but for a that it`s a bonny sight tae.
And yours truly, oot this morning in that twilight just afore sunrise, just stood and gawped like a wee bairn at the still sleeping peace o this place, and then I heard them, the wild geese, for a me lamenting the lack o them a whiles back, they are here noo!
Whole flocks o them thick in the skies, flying their arrow-flights tae settle in fields and aside the ponds, and ye ken, there`s no much o a bonnier sight tae see, or hear, the grace o birds and the song o northern places a deal mair caulder and sharper and less kind than here.
Tae look up intae a sky bright wi colour and rich wi gold, tae see the outline o creatures yours truly could sometimes envy for their freedom, maks for such a bonny start tae the day.
I wouldnae swap such moments for onything.
So if ye see a wee wifie standing gawping like a bairn at the world aroond her, it`s just me, looking at the world wi that bairns eyes again.

With another insomniac night looming, sometimes all you can do is take yourself off outdoors, just to avoid cabin fever.
Winter`s coming. This is something you can tell in a hundred small ways...the wild geese overhead and in the fields, gathering up the spilled grain of harvested crops. The feverish foraging of other wild birds as they raid the currant bushes and feast on rose hips, fattening up against the cold like we don more clothing.
In the way the sun rides lower in the morning skies every day, blinding but pale, a thin kind of light, not the rich gold and red of summer but an iced lemon thing that bleaches out the browned grass and makes for softer shadows than the hard and sharp ones of summer.
The sea dances more, being a moody witch when winter strides in to claim her own territory. She`s rough and wild often, not a woman to mess with, that sea. But still I see bonny brave wee boats go out across the body of her every morning and return safe, if battered, in the evenings.
The air is colder and crisp and has a bite to it. These are nights for hugging the fireside, and in older, maybe kinder days, we`d have gathered family around us and done just that.
Yours truly is taking a wee break from IB, just because life catches up with you sometimes and you have to give it a little more attention than normally or it tends to slip out of your hands! But here`s a wee story, a bit early given we`re still waiting (and some of us, hoping) for snow. Will be back soonest, when I`ve caught up on some sleep. :-)


In the Realm of the Lady Winter


Her breath mists the twilit air, frost and pearl,
as she mounts her horse, a steel grey beast
of taught muscle and lean limbs, built for speed.
Pulling the collar of her cloak around her, she
gazes out at the surrounding landscape.
She owns it all, in a way which will never be
written on parchment, never be lodged in the minds of men. Her cloak is fur, the white fur of the northern bear, trimmed with tiny bells that announce her passing to the ears of night creatures, trimmed with bone and fang and links to the souls of the creatures that run beside her, unseen but heard in howl, baying slow, trembling songs at the winter moon.
Her eyes are pale, diamond hard and piercing and gifted for far sight. Kicking her heels into the flanks of the horse, she sets out. At her side run two white wolves, barrow-wight wolves, red in fang, red in eye, thirsty for the chase.
At her shoulder fly two white ravens, ghosts of the skies, hiding in cloud and hail, riding the cool winds like small ships at sea.
Over the ice sheets, cracking and dancing, hooves ringing on frost packed earth, over snow drifts and through flurries, leaving behind clouds of soft white sugar dust hanging in the air, already growing dark.
The moon shines his lamp on her and her retinue as they fare forth, shimmer of white and silver, cold as ice and deadly as steel, and she who looks so beautiful, so ethereal, will gift the kiss of death to any who will come to her.
The night wanes, journeys end approaches, and as time passes with the travelling of the moon, she changes....ice is there still, white, grey, strong, but the crone shines through, the hag shimmers in and out of her face, now young, now old, always cold....
Harsh life and work is hers, the depths of cold winters are hers, the gathering of souls, frostbitten and bound are hers, the horizon of the night sky is hers, and in her work she sees the frailty of many, the little deaths of small creatures under rocks, the passing over of others sheltering with false hope in the lee of home and wall and barn, and in the benighted travellers, the lost crying of souls brought forth by the gentle, sleepy kiss of winter herself.
Her wolves seek, their noses to the ground, to the air, the faint warmth of passing blood, the soft whimper of last sighs, they pad unseen into rooms and under grass and into water, ravens screech above her head, always seeking, far seeing they find new prey, new souls to take, to lead home, to let sleep, for a while...

Lady winter reins her mount and looks backward, over her shoulder she sees the glimmer of sunlight, yet cool and low on the horizon. Reaching down, absently, she pets the wolves, those white rangers, panting now, with hot hungry breath in approaching morning air. Looking up, faint against the clouds she sees the ravens, white specks against black and gold, and smiles, and they gift her with two solitary, lonely cries, before veering northwards, and even now she feels the faint breath of the wing beats against her cheek.
She is old now, growing an age in one night as she always does....when moon raises his head again, she will be young, smooth, awesome to behold. The weight of souls lies on her heart, in her eyes, and she must bear them home, north, to winter halls of rough wood, warm fires, where time has never lived but other things do...
as the sun chases away the moon, she steps north, and in each step a country is crossed, and in each step an age is added, and the woman who crosses into the land of eternal winter is old, older than time, and only those who would know will see the strength in her step, how firm her hands on the reins, the small smile of knowing on her lips. stabling the grey, she pauses...her old ears pick up the sound of laughter, of soft glad tears, and she knows they have reached those rough wooden halls, the warm fires, and the others....

When the veil between the worlds thins, other things come out to play at end of day, on Samnhain night.
Wolves born of the Underworld lope, slavering jaws and ripping claws, be bereft of hope
all travellers caught, unwary, along the dark and lonely roads tonight.
The Wild Hunt rides the dark night skies and spies out souls to carry away, lost travellers gone, never seeing again the light of day.
Ghosts and ghouls abound and round the trees and hills they screech and shout, drop into their clutches, you`ll never get out.....
Witches dance in circles wild, naked, throwing spells into the air like glittering enchantments, tonight is their night, the night of the witch, cousin of the ghost.

And in a room in a small house sit three young girls, for they`ve been told, tonight, out of all the nights in the year, tonight is the one to scry for your future love, in an old ritual of cast apple peel over shoulders, of inky water stared into, mirrors looked askance at, this is a do-able thing for them, hungry to see if this year will bring their one true love to them.
So in secret, in a derelict building, they huddle like MacBeth`s three crones grown young, around an upturned box, but instead of the innocent rites of apples and water, they have the ouija board spread out before them, a shiny clean glass stolen from a mothers kitchen there in the middle, ready for eager fingers to touch and set moving.

And in the centre of the room one solitary candle burns, because "it`ll add atmosphere" and so as not to attract too much attention to the house they shouldn`t be in.

And it does add atmosphere, for around the halo of the flame wisps of smoke gather and twirl into impossible shapes, unseen by the three who whisper and giggle, excited to be playing this occult game.
One by one the fingers touch the top of the glass..."No shoving it, mind! It has to do it with the help of...(said in a trembling, spooky voice thick with laughter) the spirits..."

And when the giggling has died down, and the fidgeting has stopped, the oldest girl...by three months, a positive matriarch, she feels this makes her...announces self consciously to the darkening night air..."Is there anybody there?"
And they wait....
and in the darkness a thickness gathers, like a cloak about to be drawn around the room, blanketing, potentially smothering....
but the girls don`t notice, for the glass begins its slow shuffle around the board and slides, grating, to "Yes"....
Eyes wide and mouths gasping, they stare at one another, half convinced each has moved the glass, half hoping they will get what they desire, such shallow desires, too....


"We want to know the names of our boyfriends please..the ones we`ll meet this year...."

And what could a helpful spirit say, to such a question, if it has been used to the deep and meaningful inquiries of other, more enlightened seekers sat at such boards for the past hundred years?

The glass moves again and the girls sit rapt and silently mouth the letters out one by one, like children learning to read.....

"Look...behind...you...."

and frowning at one another, each girl turns to see, fingers no longer on the glass but trembling at their lips now....

On this night when the veil between the worlds of living and dead are thin, such a helpful ghost, in the true spirit of Halloween, decides to gift these mortal girls what they desire, the love of men....

And from the shadows behind each girl a figure walks forward into the meagre light of the flickering candle, and as that light softly illuminates what comes to greet them, each girl screams and scrabbles backwards for escape, towards a door which can no longer be opened, tight shut and locked it is...

And no passers by on the street outside the house will hear those screams for after all, sane folks are safe inside their own homes this chancy night, and after all, those screams are short lived as each girl is united in eternal love, as she had dreamed, with her new beau....

And after all, did it matter, if those boys had been so long dead and buried?
No? The helpful spirit didn`t think so either....

And the house has new inhabitants, who each Halloween peer out of darkened windows with desperate eyes and wide but silent mouths, screaming in terror....

And in the cellar of the house, the heart of it, a helpful spirit giggles and laughs and enjoys the darkness of Halloween night.