Monday, 16 June 2014

Signs of Life

My husband stays a few nights in Brisbane city every other month or so for work. I went with him in May just gone, desperate for a change in scenery to snap out of the funk I was in after my mother's death. I wandered in the wilderness of the city centre, camera at the ready as always. I was looking for a sign, and I was well rewarded.

They were everywhere; on street corners, on buses, in shop windows, lit up on buildings and stencilled on the pavement. The trick is finding a sign that says something you need to hear, then taking it in. 

I'm not superstitious enough to think that any higher being out there conspires to send me messages. I know well enough that usually I'm in the right place at the right time. Which some would say is mostly the same thing. And sometimes I need to be slapped in the face with the bleeding obvious.

It was the week before Mother's Day so of course that was splashed everywhere I looked, and it was not helping my frame of mind. I'm not comfortable being in a place of grief, even though I know it is a process and a journey, not something I can quickly experience and then have be over, like a movie. There's no closure in grief, and if there's one thing I like it is closure.

I had to do something to keep moving, and then there it was on a council bus. The answer.

The secret of course is knowing what you want to change things into.

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