Here's the Thing

By Barbara Bingham

In this, my first act of sharing my thoughts, fantasies, and reflections, I must acknowledge those who have always encouraged me to pursue the craft of creative writing.

It starts with the delight in the written or spoken word, and I marvel how we have come from grunting to communicate to the graceful spinning of language that can transport us to a distant place or send us hurtling into the deep recesses of our own being.

Like many who write, I have kept these stories and poems tucked away far from the public eye, but now I feel it is time to bring to you what has been a joy and delight. It is not until you start writing that the ideas and observations come flowing into your consciousness. Unless you get it down, a beautiful thought or even a clever turn of phrase will be blown in the wind, never quite returning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Dec 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504370134

Barbara Bingham

Barbara Bingham is a Wellness Coach, author and speaker, and Director of Kaizen Total Wellness Center. With her B.S. degree in Nutrition, Master Certification as a Life Coach and life-long commitment to well-being, Barbara naturally inspires clients to make daily, healthy choices. She is a regular columnist for Living on the Suncoast Magazine and a blogger for Kaizen Total Wellness. Barbara lives with her husband, daughter, dog and cat in Sarasota, Florida, which she fondly calls her ‘vacation home.’ Her favorite healthy activity is tarpon fishing.

Book preview

The Harvest

I was always small, vertically challenged, stunted, even puny.

Try as I might to be tall and strong like the others, it soon became clear to me that I was not to be included in the day to day events that took place under the wide open sky, nor could I join in the golden swaying dance above my head, as the wind teased, to and fro. I was easily brushed aside as I tried to find a space, up there, where it seemed we all aspired to be. Occasionally my tall neighbours would bend deeply to one side or the other and I would snatch a glimpse of puffy clouds in a sea of blue, and realize there were so many of us sitting side by side in an endless field, reaching for the sun and sighing in the summer breeze.

I did make friends though, those that few knew anything about. They were the creatures that slithered and crawled around my tiny feet, barely lifting their heads to say, hello, constantly foraging for food and survival. We shared a certain camaraderie, we the unseen and unnoticed, in the stillness, close to the sweet earth in the moving shafts of soft filtered light of day above us. The ground smelt so sweet, especially after a solid rain, and sometimes I got to wriggle my roots in the soggy dirt.

My best friend was little grey one the mouse with the pretty bright eyes who came to visit every day, would pause, then politely scamper around me without brushing me down onto the dirt of the field. She sometimes threw me a tit bit of local gossip before she darted off. They’re coming soon or, those over by the creek are complaining about wet feet after yesterdays heavy rainfall. Those in the mid-field are the tallest we’ve ever seen.

Then came the day, warm and sunny as it had been all week, when I sensed a change was in the air. Next came a deep rumbling in the ground, I could feel it throbbing deep in my roots, followed soon by the sound of an approaching machine, crashing it’s way closer and closer towards us.

There was much consternation even panic with my neighbours upstairs. The sound was now deafening, then I was flung violently into the air. I gasped as I felt the intense heat of a mid-summer’s morning for the very first time. The brilliant glare of the sun hovered over the uncut fields and made shadows in the trees over by the farmhouse and barn. A glimpse was all I had, before I plummeted to the ground even quicker than I had been plucked from it. No longer could I tell which way was up and my dear friends were nowhere in sight. I felt myself merging with big and small, all, different colours, some smelt funny and had names like thistle and wild carrot. Over and over we rolled until we all fell exhausted in long neat rows. We all just lay there silently together and rested. No whispering, no noise at all, except for the machine with its whirling blades disappearing down the field. A rich, pungent smell enveloped us and busy little gnats came to explore our golden mounds.

We had grown in different worlds, not really knowing how the other spent their days. Now I realize I had wasted time feeling sorry for myself, feeling left out all my life not knowing that in the end, at final harvest we are all gathered as one.

The Lighter Side of Winter

We have resigned ourselves that Mrs Winter will come for a visit every year.

She is a persistent old girl, and arrives regardless of whether we have invited her or not. We have found that the best way to deal with her is to try to see her good side, even though her changeable nature and mood swings are hard to take.

She’s full of surprises, but usually arrives some time in November, but some years we have had a reprieve by a few weeks. Other years, she has come knocking on our door right after Thanksgiving. A gust of icy air fills the house as she bounds in the door, kicks off her snow shoes and settles in with us for several months.

She is a great favourite with the children. She’ll race out of the door like a young thing, in