Michaela is tidying out our study/music room- she is intent on taking over the desk to use for her various craft activities.
It has accumulated more stuff than it is possible to imagine; file full of music, bits and pieces from old events we have done with Aoradh, laminated meditations, programmes, random data CDs, cassette tapes (remember those?)
Through the day yesterday she would find me and ask if I wanted to keep something. My instinctive answer was always ‘Yes’, but usually it went in the bin anyway. Lots of it concerned my old scribblings – songs, poems, stories, articles for magazines. I seem to have kept not only the final version, but in some cases I have several draft copies too.
There were lots of things that made me cringe, and grateful to put in the bin. But I did find some things that I might rework or at least keep as some kind of record of the past.
I found this poem, hand written in an old notebook. I think it must be from around 10 years ago, written whilst on holiday.
I decided to reproduce it here not because it is particularly good- but more because the winter is hard, and it is good to remember that this too shall pass.
There will be a time again of gentle air alive with birdsong and the smell of warm soil.
Highlands, early summer
Haze on the horizon
Hiding the far hills
Rocks nestling in the new grown heather
Bright green bracken still soft in the sun
Flax heads bobbing and swaying in the blue breeze
Are ghosts of an older age, gone now
Like the moaning voice of the cuckoo
Carried away on the wind
The earth sighs with the content of early summer
Not yet full of buzz and hum
No sign yet of anything brown
All is sinewed and strong
If under ripe
It is a time for the joy of it
Not the end product