The oyster house…
A poem arrived amongst my emails today, all the way from the southern hemisphere. The sender is on a journey around the world. The poem, which with their permission I have posted above, warmed my heart and set me thinking. About the importance of being remembered. Of existing in the heart and mind of another.
Being different doesn’t mean being bad or wrong, but it can feel risky. As a teenager I got into deep trouble for not wearing my school uniform as I was expected to. As an adult I can see the wisdom of group identity but as a youngster I was exercising my ‘separation’ muscles. I’m still a bit like that. If I feel I’m being coerced into group behaviour I resist with all my might.
The North Sea was wild today, crashing against the rocks by the harbour. I walked along the sand for awhile but was drawn to roar of the waves. Climbing onto the harbour wall I stood close enough to feel the spray but with distance enough to avoid a drenching. Now and again a freak wave would reach higher to surprise me. Read All
Late August and late summer days can be glorious. As September moves in, the light changes to a more golden glow and Indian summer sunny skies have a deeper hue. The air seems softer, the breeze fresher. In the garden there is a ripeness and mellowness not there earlier in the year.