Looking for more in Scotland's Stories?

Life and Fireworks

Author: Betty Mills

The sun is up early and sweeps the room for shadows. Morning rays of light glisten with silvery songs of birds to lighten the mood of life and fireworks.

I look out the window with a telescope of magical colours, yellow, red, and green. I embrace the frost bitten shapes that smile back at me and the memories of every celebration I have lived. Childish laughter and promises from birthdays, Christmas, Hogmanay, Easter risings and Halloween screams. Toffee apples, sparklers and the cascade of lights in the night with rockets that explode to start the bonfire night rituals.

I am grateful for people to share this time with as it's always moving from light to dark with emotions from low to high and shadows of love that turn each year through the seasons of my heartfelt celebrations. I say to love, Please stay and keep me company. I listen for footsteps, coming and going throughout each year (some good some not so), with scents of mum’s perfume to dad’s wild flowers and walks to tire out my little legs. I am happy with these memories of sun, wind and – often – rain. Hot pavements, ice-cream, friends both kind and cold.

I remember wise words and books I would read to share and grow each day with knowledge.

Most of all the quiet tones and whispers of voices I can no longer hear, as those times have passed. Only the clock ticks like each heartbeat I have heard in my life. I have spun from each celebration with candles on my cake to a window of changing seasons. Fashion from gypsy skirts and summer sandals, to hats, gloves and winter boots.

Each love has been lit, kindled and cherished and extinguished in tears.

I would never do that to anyone; be cruel and leave without a word; no goodbye.

I have regrets, people I cared for that disappeared in a puff of smoke and were no more. Just gone. I missed friendships and discovered loss, lost loves and cold sheets. Have I just forgotten not all ends well?

Anyway, this is my nonsense that moves my tired hands, minimises the pains and feeds my ego. Not all is lost, there are still fireworks after all.