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Image source, for The Sunday Muse prompt #74 \\\* Like the slowly louder clunks a train’s wheels send ahead, as it wends its way along ancient tracks, the old man’s memories float slowly to the fore, the streaks of dappled light dancing on the walls behind his face a spotlight, falling on him the same way it falls on a minstrel at a cabaret, drawing a hush out of the muted mumblings of the gathered. Though his wrinkled skin, once soft now lies wrinkled, warped and folded and his fingers once supple now lack dexterity, like a seagull resplendent in its freedom the memories of past songs return, the track and the piano fusing in a crescendo refusing to be silenced.

\\\* Second week since I’ve restarted these, and the first in which I have been trying to keep a log in my notebook through the week. Here goes: Several times over the last seven days I’ve managed to bust out several good runs ranging from 5 to 10km. Given a mere three years ago, I could hardly complete 2.5km in a go, going the distances I now can is something to be grateful for. Meetups with people I have known through work dominated my social life this past week. First off was a catch up with R who I shared an office with when I first joined my current company back in 2011 and who I have stayed friends with. I have him to thank for making the effort to draw me out from the shy, reserved, headphones-in-my-ears-all-the-time guy I was when I joined. The other meetup was with M, at a Nigerian eatery in town. He managed the pepper OK, and we have notionally agreed to do this every quarter, if we can. The other big catchup was with S, whom I hadn’t spoken to in quite some time. It is always amazing to catch up with someone I haven’t in a while and then the conversation just seems to continue from where it stops. Grateful for friends! My relationship with my local church (and the big C church to be honest) isn’t the greatest at all. Having managed to drag myself there last Sunday, quite a few things said seem to hit right home and capture the moment where I am at the moment.

For the Sunday Muse prompt #73. \\\** Beneath the garb of Prudence and propriety deep delight can lurk.

It has been a while I did one of these, life happened I guess, but recently I have come back to a place where mental health has come front and centre in the circles I roll in again. I suspect if you asked S, she would say I have been a terrible old git for most of the past year, which is where actively cultivating an attitude of gratitude comes in. The idea would be to document one thing per day that I am grateful for, and share on here on a Thursday. So here goes: ...

Photography by Svetlana Belyaeva click HERE for website. For the Sunday Muse Prompt #71 \\\* Where fear once threaded its tiny tendrils through our feet, and captive hearts We choose to fly free leaving behind the safety of this confined space. Because though freedom only is a promise, it trumps certain defeat.

The year I turned thirty, I was a student battling to put finishing touches to my master’s degree dissertation and pondering what the future had in store for me. That the success or failure of that year, and the year before that, came down to that singular task was the result of an unanticipated turn of events which turned what was a leave of absence to return to full-time study into having to leave my Nigerian job. Grad school, my response to the year before that, had made sense in my head largely because it seemed a low risk, given there was a reasonably high likelihood of returning. I, as it would turn out was ultimately mistaken. ...

Gift, for The Sunday Muse prompt #68. Photography by Edouard Boubat. \\\* Against the pressure of the sea and the darkness of the depths, the gift has been formed, layer by layer each crystal a prayer offered up for protection from the predation of the boring sponge, the oyster worm and the scurrying crab. Each day that water has washed over it - wearing tiny paths across its stubborn skin - a battle has been won; of survival, and quiet reassurance. And when someday, bequeathed by the sea, it lies in the hands of a grateful child, its hardy brilliance will yet still speak, more loudly in its silence than all the things it has survived.

Photo by Thiago Matos from Pexels. For the Sunday Muse prompt #67 \\\* Even broken things can sometimes find a use: jagged edges catching light, a half-face teasing memory, and imagination. Life, reinvented.

By some unexpected twist of fate, I found myself heading into Central London on the hottest day of the year, a fairly tropical 37 degrees Celsius, and that for the first time since last December. The destination was the Nigeria High Commission on Northumberland Avenue, the plan to get my expired Nigerian passport renewed. To get here I had had to jump through several tortuous loops, not helped by the fact that my trips down to England are scheduled months in advance with impromptu trips being aggressively minimised due to the costs. My takeaway from my dealings with the appointment’s system was that the (re)scheduling system could be significantly improved - first, you sign up via a third party web service, pay the booking fees and then get randomly assigned a date, one you can only change to a more suitable one by emailing back and forth, no less than six in my case – which meant in addition to the heat I very much had my mind prepared for a terrible experience which could potentially take the whole day. It might have been my low expectations, but the experience was far less stressful than I expected, sans the slow pace at which things trundled along from picking a ticket to getting called for an initial review and then submitting my biometric details. If there was a silver lining, it was that the slow pace of things – and the very many other Nigerians there for similar purposes – increased the likelihood of running into people I had not seen in a long time; 20 plus years and two kids in one case. That the most unsettling thing from all of that was wondering what the scrawny lad I ended up sitting across from on the tube from Charing Cross to Waterloo was up - to whilst reading from 2nd Corinthians 1 in a huge bible - is a miracle of sorts (events at the High Commission didn’t leave me mentally drained as they have in the past) or perhaps only the symptom of my low expectations. ...

For The Wednesday Muse Prompt, Summer Rain. \\\* It hangs in the air like a shroud, this heavy, brooding cloud of dust through which the sun tries to force its way; the same way a frail old man, bent double at the waist, tries to hack his way through dense undergrowth, by dint of will power and persistence. Suddenly, like a giant oak falling, squashing dense foliage with its weight, the heavens are torn by rain, and relief. Peals of thunder, flashes of lightning birth many miracles of tiny rivers suddenly sprung, washing away the dust of earth baked dry, after which comes the smell of new, clean things, of rebirth and things made whole again.