Mother of the Child

<p>Songful time travelling is where I'm taking you in these memoir fragments - a lyrical time warp from last century floating across then and there to here and now.</p><p>This collection of moments sifted from my mother's life - like an old-time movie as seen through the child's eyes - has its own timeless messages and one person's life stands for many.</p><p>As I hold up my mother's mirror on her life it is as if broken memory fragments are reflecting the ordinary minutiae. They shine under the spotlight of reminiscence revealing the extraordinary and there we have our snapshot our own painted impressions - like the blue hour of dusk - our own sung poem. They take us away and make us connect with things that ring true.</p><p>To hear the lyricism in life we might listen out for faraway cadences while we hear the realities of a life as lived: <em>There were plenty of cockatoos screeching in my mother's life. What she needed was to hear the doves coo. What she did hear every day was a caged canary call. </em>We hear the poetry in the faint whir of a ceiling fan that <em>oscillates with the sounds of family life ... we wait for time to reveal another message ... we stop what we're doing just to listen </em>and to get the drift of days now gone.</p><p>Hope you enjoy catching the drift.</p>