LOGINThe walk is long and the sun slowly draws lower and lower till it hits the tree tops, casting a glorious glow across the fields filled with green crops, tall wild flower growing alongside the fences and the warm breeze combing through my hair. I take a seat and decide to grab my sketch book, taking in the glorious views and taking mental notes and images while drawing out the scenery. Minuets turn into hours and the sun descends past the horizon displaying hues of pinks, oranges and purple tones in the sky. I pack up and carry on my way.
As the night air descends, my vision becomes engulfed into darkness, only the spotting of starts displayed above me and the moon to light the path ahead. I spot a farm house upahead, its light on. A bard just outside the property with its doors open. I quietly make my way towards the barn and sneak in. The floor scattered with dry hay and large hay bales to the right of the barn. I tuck myself between a couple of the hay bales and grab my jumper, lay it over me like a blanket and close my eyes, drifting off to sleep with the soothing sounds of crickets and distant sheep baaing in the fields. I am woken with the sounds of a shuffling noise in the barn, footsteps and low humming. I freeze up and try make no noises. After waiting for almost an hour, curled up behind the hay bales, the person walks out of the barn. I wait another 10 minuets then quickly gather my stuff and quietly tiptoe out of the barn, heading toward the path I was on yesterday. When finally out of sight I open my bag and grab some bread and jam from my bag to make a quick sandwich then I set back off on my way. I set off at 8am and after a while of walking and reaching another neighbouring town I check my phone and realise it's almost 6pm. In between walking and sketching, I hadn't realised the time. With the sun still out being so early in summer, I hadn't even noticed. I had been snacking my whole journey so I want particularly hungry but now that it's getting late, I've realised I need somewhere to sleep for the night. As I walk further into town I notice a air b&b. I check in for one night and crash out on the bed... I had forgotten the comfort of a bed due to the past couple of rough days and nights. My eyes go heavy very quickly and I am soon in a deep sleep. The next day I plan my journey more wisely. The trains in this area are still running and I've noticed a lot of France still hasn't been affected too much by the war. I buy a ticket going from saint omers to Reims with 2 train changes then from Reims to Dijon with 1 change. By the time I was in Dijon it was 5pm. I had filled in 5 pages of my sketch book, drawing fields, hills, houses and building, passing people and the occasional animal. Each page with a brief written description of my whereabouts and my current situations at hand almost like a sketched diary. I didn't know how to cry and grieve the loss of my family and friends, the shock was too much so instead I let it all out in my art. As I step out onto the platform, crowds of people push past each other, papers on racks displaying all the current attacks and bombings. Dijon is a very big city and I don't doubt this it would be quite a big target in the current war so I wasn't too keen in hanging around here too long. Saying that, its architecture is stunning. The old building and cobbled pathes, floral scents and pops of colour, making me almost forget the war we are in. If i wasnt here because of this war then i would definitely come here for a holiday. I stop at a museum and sketch some more. Grab some food and walk through the old streets of Dijon eventually stopping in at an old pub. "Maybe a quick drink would be nice after all that has happened". I seat myself by the window with a pint in hand, my sketch book on the table as I stare out of the glass panels wondering what to do with myself. After a little while a man comes up to me and speaks softly beside me " ma chérie, tu vas bien?" I turn around and gaze up at him, not realising I had been crying. The man must have been in his late 60s, he had a white beard and white hair, neatly and very stylishly swept to the right of his head, he was wearing a tweed suit. His aura intimidated me a little but the soft and caring look in his eyes calmed me and gave me a warm feeling inside, something I would feel towards a grandparent. " oh erm sorry I do not speak French" I say. "Ahh you are not from around here, no worries I speak English perfectly my dear. I noticed you crying and thought ide check on you" the man says as he takes a seat opposite me. I wipe my tears away and take a big breath in then out " ah yes sorry, I've just been through quite a bit is all and I've tried so hard to put on a brave face but, well I guess it's all just a little too much". The man places my hand in both of his and smiles "I can see the pain in your eyes, no need to explain, sometimes a friendly face and a chat is all that's needed to feel a little better" he says, but suddenly his eyes widened and he grabs my sketch book " my dear, these drawing are incredible! Do you draw professionally? Are you known?" The man gasps, he flicks through the pages, reading my notes and taking in my work. "I erm no, I just do it for fun, it helps me relieve my emotions... especially recently" I say as I rub the back of my neck, my face going a little red with embarrassment, " I say, I would love to introduce you to someone, I am quite well known you see in the art industry. I think you could very well be going places with the talent you hold." The man speaks so lively I almost forget he's old with the enthusiasm in his voice. "Here take this, I will put in my name and number, tell Carlo I sent you and he will know what to do from there on" the man quickly says to me as he hands me a card with an address on it and a few names and directions along with his details. He stands up promptly and leaves with his words echoing behind him "I look forward to seeing what will become of you and the things you create!". That night I book another hotel, I lay on the bed looking up at the ceiling and then down at the card beside me then back up at the ceiling. "I guess I've nothing else to do, oh to hell with it... I might as well see where this takes me, who know maybe it will help get me a ticket out of this war and into safety" I mumble to myself as I eventually go to sleep. The next morning I am woken up by a big bang. Something not too far off a noise from what ide heard back home...“He is beautiful” Carlo says through chocked sobs, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into a loving hold, Nora sneaks away quietly to her own house, probably feeling a little intrusive of our moment, I give her a smile as she leaves and winks back at me.We leave the room so to let baby Carlo rest and head downstairs. I make us both some tea and we sit together on the sofa, asking about everything and anything, bits left out of my sketchbook/diary, the birth of Carlo, living with Nora and Joel and lots more, while Carlo also told me about everything that had happened with him in more detail.Our tea cups refilled two more times, realising that we would not be able to fill each other in on every little thing in only one night, we decide to just rest. “Are you sure you’re ok with me staying here tonight?” He asked me, I wasn’t too sure how to respond. “Carlo, this is your home as well you do know? You don’t need to ask me anything” I say, wanting him to know and understand th
Carlo talks in detail to me of all the things he has seen, done and endured, the tired look in his eyes and the overgrown stubble around his perfectly chiselled jaw, telling me of the endeavours he has encountered and time that has drawn weary on his face. My eyes filling with tears, the things he has had to endure and to be able to get to me here. I tell him the things I’d done to try and get to him but it seemed he knew most of my moves due to my sketchbook that Lisa had salvaged from the bombed hospital. “Your sketch book moved me. I really think you should publish it, there’s so many stories of the soilders that lost their lives, and their families would probably be so grateful to see your drawings and the things they’d said, messages for their loved one.” Carlo says, my face flushed pink. I must admit it would be quite a good idea, I know that if it were me, I’d definitely want to hear what had happened to my children or family out fighting a war. Carlo tells me about how he m
I can just about see the glistening waters of the lake from above the hillside where I stand. My feet take me down, towards the pool of hope. The moon hanging low over the lake, casting a silvery glow that dances on the waters surface. I had been wandering for what felt like an eternity, and I wasn’t even sure if what I was searching for, I would find.My mind a hazy fog but the moment I caught sight of her, my heart stuttered. She was sat there on the grass with her knees bent, leaning over to sketch, her long blond waves cascading over her shoulders, glowing like spun gold in the moonlight, she was just as I had imagined, an angel like figure.I froze, captivated. My breath caught in my throat, it was as if the universe had shifted to reveal the one thing I had been searching for.With each step I took, fragments of memories began to resurface, a soft laugh, the warmth of her touch, moments we shared that felt so distant yet achingly familiar. I reach out, my fingers brushing aga
I make my way through the quiet town, the sky now dark, peoples lights switched on in their homes, releasing a soft warm glow. As I get to the edge of the buildings, the path carry’s on down the hill, fields stretch at either side, my vision becomes less visible from lack of lighting, but with just enough glow from the moon, I can make my way towards the pond where I used to visit often with Carlo. I sit on the bare ground, running my fingers through the fresh new grass, a little moist from the evening air. The thought of warmer weather coming reminding me of all the moments spent with him. The heaviness of solitude around me like a dense cloak. Vibrant blooms of spring surrounding me, even in the darkness, their colours burst with life, their beauty only deepening the emptiness I feel inside. The world was waking up yet I remained trapped in the stillness of grief, haunted by memories of him, my lover, my anchor.I watch the water ripple gently, reflecting the sparkling stars ab
I don’t need an alarm to get me up, the light coming in from outside was loud enough to know it was time to get moving. Bruce still asleep as usual. I get him up as soon as I’m awake so to not delay, he wakes up eventually but it takes him a while, tossing and turning, making grumbling sounds, “we’ve been here for over a week now, and we’ve barely left the hotel, how can you still be tired” I say to him as he opens one eye and yawns, “man’s gotta get his Beaty sleep” Bruce reply’s, winking at me, I throw a pillow at his face making him sit upright, finally properly awake. “I said 8am, not 7am” he complains while sliding his legs out of the bed, drooping forward like a zombie. We manage to leave the house by 8am, stopping to get something to eat first then following the map, through centre of town and out of the outskirts, bringing us to a more mountainous region. Our journey goes smoothly, the weather on our side with the sun out, melting away what was left of the snow dusting the
After the drawings of Marcel, she looked to be in a car with mountains surrounding… the next pages looked familiar, a town built in the valleys, beautiful architecture, I felt a spark of inspiration as I looked through her drawings of others art works and sculptors, almost like a hobby or something I enjoyed doing resurfacing. I feel like I’d seen some of these pages before but couldn’t quite pin point when or where.I flicker through more pages, she write’s on each page, describing what she’s drawn, where she is and where she’s going to in a poetic like manor.She sketches parts of Rome, Rome I remember but not with her, I remember visiting when I was younger with my mother and faintly remembering being with Marcel at one point there.Then I saw a drawing that took the breath out of me, she’d drawn me, I was sculpting something, a woman figure out of stone, she’d drawn my muscular form, the shine on my skin indicating sweat. As I looked at the image I didn’t rember exactly what I wa







