I was struggling to find a clear topic this week. Just as I settled upon one idea, another would come along and like a dodgem car, nudge it out of the way. I won’t bore you ( or intrigue you ) with the possibilities; they were numerous. But none ‘attached’ themselves to me with anything resembling commitment. I was floundering. This was a really unusual situation for me.
But instead of choosing any old topic just to get the job done, I thought I would explore why I was struggling.
So, I went for a walk which usually helps. A long walk. I left Jack our greyhound at home. Too many stops and starts with that old fella! I really needed a steady uninterrupted amble. One of those steady-rhythm mind-emptying walks where one foot mechanically follows the other. One of those walks where the mind begins to empty itself. And, like a homing pigeon I found myself heading toward a clear view of the sea and the glow of a soft orange sun melting slowly into the horizon.
Towards the end of my walk I grabbed a takeaway coffee from the café on the corner and sat on a bench overlooking the bay. The small wooden bench had a little memorial plaque on it – in memory of ‘Daisy’. Unknown to me she was clearly loved by someone. I was thankful for this little bench facing west. Lovingly located in a place special to ‘Daisy’ for reasons now lost in the passing of time. It had been a long day; the day of David Lancaster’s funeral. Indeed, it had been a long few weeks in which grief, personal grief connected with friends and family, had been a feature of most days. It was a quiet evening. No wind and hardly anyone else was out and about. I absorbed the stillness and watched the day slip noiselessly away. I must have been a bit weary because, just as noiselessly, my eye lids closed and I slipped into one of those little micro naps. After a few minutes, my eyes opened and I was confronted by a sky that had turned the brightest and deepest red I had ever seen, or can remember seeing. It was stunning.
I resisted the urge to capture the scene on my phone. Instead I just watched and soaked up the full rich slowly-fading beauty of it. It was in that moment that I realised I had not allowed myself to fully feel the sadness that had been accumulating within me. I took some time to let some tears run down my cheeks and as they ran I could feel the sadness slipping away. I sat a bit longer on that memorial bench and gave thanks for all the rich beauty that the loved and gone had brought into my life. Even the unknown ‘Daisy’ whose company I shared that evening.
What a sweet and comforting language creation can speak when you are least expecting it.
Peace
David
