Sharon Hadley-Ford
Writer

Favourite Space

The star speckled navy of night is nudged over by the morning, who is slow but steady to arrive. Turning up day after day, to warm the grass, and kiss the heads of children. An inch of milky light comes and goes on a cool breeze, through the velvet damson drapes. Ivory hydrangeas on the walls nod and dance and bend in the flickers of light on the golden walls. The brightness stirs me from slumber, as surely as if it came into my bedroom and prodded me awake. The daylight is not alone in its mischief of waking me, it is accompanied by the cooing of a couple of pigeons, who work together to stop me slipping back into my warm sleep. The birds sing back and forth, driving the quiet under the door, and out, away from the stillness of my room.

I’m in my favourite place. My bedroom. I’m in my bed. My place of wishing and dreaming of lovemaking and filling my cup full of hopes. This is where I imagine and create, where ideas bubble and breathe and where I am truly content.

The duck feathers in the white cotton quilt cocoon me as I turn and bury my face into the freshness of the heather scent that drifts from the silk pillowcase. I swallow the smell and stretch my waking limbs. I feel the weight of me heavy back into the plump mattress. Silk cushions are scattered from the night before, so I grab one and stuff it behind me propping myself up, just enough to reach my notebook and pen from my bedside table.

I look around the room, which is getting lighter now, and see the dent from husband, who is now gone. I’m in search of inspiration, a flight of fancy. Quickly it comes to me in the form of a gummy smile from my sixth month old grandson and I swear my heart lifts a little inside my chest with the joy of having him in my life. That is the feeling of love I think, that is my inspiration today, so I scribble.

My bedroom is my place and my place is in Shropshire. Charles Darwin was born here and we have the famous Iron Bridge. As much as I love my home, where I have lived for over twenty years, I know that my place is really wherever my family are, because they fill an empty space and make my world.

On the Lawn

The air is a close kind of warm, like I’m standing near to an oven. There are clouds, but I see scant patches of baby blue trying to break through. They aren’t alone; their friends are in the distance. I feel the light breath of a breeze and stand still to embrace it. The lawn is a strange yet welcome site. Sad patches of scratchy beige adorn it, compliments of the sun. I smell seaweed and a faint note of food being cooked nearby. My husband is with me, and my hand is easy in his. After many years, our fingers make their familiar weave.

I take off my shoes to feel the grass with my toes and notice the soft vibrations underfoot. Smoke gently rises from a tall chimney before dis. A giant movie screen is mounted at one end of the lawn, and a video is playing without any sound; it shows a motorbike rider doing stunts.

Over my shoulder, I see coloured buildings stacked high and tight next to Praca do Comercio, in Lisbon. A member of staff dressed in white walks past me, carrying towels; they nod and smile. The atmosphere is peaceful where I am, sitting on the lawn on the top deck of the Celebrity Silhouette cruise ship.

It’s a port day, and many guests have ventured ashore, leaving the place I’ve chosen unusually quiet. This lawn is unusual in being on a ship and fills me with joy. I recall the wonderful memories of sitting here with my daughters two years ago on my birthday. Nostalgia and happiness fill my cup, and my mind finds those memories and shows them to me as if I were sitting in the theatre, below deck.

More people arrive, and I hear chatting and laughter, which breaks me from the spell. I sense good moods and cheer. Some birds swoop and miss the lines that trail from the ship in what is their territory, not ours.

The nighttime on the lawn is a spectacle of enchantment. The round moon and canopy of stars hang closely overhead, casting a glow over the ship as it silently sails through the still pond, heading toward our next destination. I close my eyes in one country and open them the next day in another. I’m somewhere new, yet magically back on the same lawn.