Rain drops lightly patter down onto the back of my jacket. I pause and turn to see if much more rain is coming. I see a complete rainbow.
The few spots of rain cease. The rainbow fades.
Choosing to wear gloves, a waterproof jacket and long trousers for my walk was a good decision.
A long conversation with my son, who is in between night shifts, is both delightful and sobering.
My grand-daughter tells me she is going to be a space expert. My grandson makes noises referring to his over-due lunch.
My son tells me he loves me. I tell my son I love him too.
CLP 13th May, 2020
From that moment, when his shadow fell
we children ran amok, mouthing our repressed pain in shouts
betrayed so young by hope of better times now held fast on a nightmare
journey of frustrations, compounded over bitter years in one long-drawn slow, silent scream
n.b. Stealing from a prompt based on Maya Angelou’s poem “Caged Bird” that includes the line “his shadow fell shouts on a nightmare scream”. I have broken all the rules about how to do this, with apologies to Bjorn at dVerse ~ Poets who set the challenge originally.
While we slide to sleep
Others haunted by nightmares
Work on regardless
n.b. For my son, my brother, my niece and all the others working NHS night shifts, tonight and every night.
CLP 2nd May 2020
Ice blue is the only way to describe yet another cloudless sky. The wind moves from the north to the east as the Sun tracks around the side of house to the back field. I get out for an evening walk only when our star has turned white and offers little in the way of warmth.
Earlier I saw a pair of house martins flying raggedly in search of their regular nesting site. This evening, a swallow careens around the end of a hedge and swerves past me at head height. Is that the second of the year, or the first I saw six days ago?
Halfway down the field-edge toward the sea I take a left at the footpath that takes me towards the clump of Scots Pines. These provide a break from the buffeting wind and under these trees it is noticeably warmer than out in the field. There is a gap in the gorse above the road that gives a good view of the birds feeding on the marshes.
While I am sheltered here there is the constant sound of the wind in the trees. It is as if someone is sweeping a giant broom across a vast expanse of flagstone floor. However, the pine needles and stiff breeze are only providing the top notes to constant undertones of the raging sea, which have accompanied my walk from the start. In fact the whole day has been full of this low rushing sound since I awoke. The sea is angry.
White horses are visible to the horizon. The waves are curling up into beautiful curves before hitting the beach. The resulting explosion of foam and spume, water and pebbles regularly shower higher than three metres into the air. The collapse of these breakers and their disintegration is visible even from behind the shingle bank. This display inevitably draws me to the shoreline.
The beach is being smashed by every incoming wave. The frequency of the waves is such that there is no respite between the destructive hit of one wave and the arrival of the next. The huge beach extends for more than 12 kilometres to the tip of Blakeney Point and then about six kilometres east to the soft clay cliffs of Sheringham. At every part of the shoreline the power of the sea is witnessed. The sea is unforgiving in this state. All along the shore the air is misted by spray. The sun sets as a heartless, silver disc through this briny veil.
When I take my jacket off at the house, it is as damp as if I had have been walking through light rain, despite the sunlight and clear sky. I lick my lips and savour the taste of sea salt.
I am told the new parents have agreed on a name for their daughter. The new grandmother waits for a decision about when her daughter and grand-daughter will be allowed home.
Sporadic text messages punctuate the late evening before lights out.
20th April, 2020
At times words are inadequate. Common enough moments for humanity, such as a woman giving birth, are in the living of the moment, beyond words.
Today, before first light, my sister’s first grandchild was born. The day has been “very emotional.” My sister says before climbing the stairs to an early bed.
Many people know of this birth after all the extending web of phone calls, text messages, video messages emanating from the maternity ward. This tiny girl, lying in a cot somewhere distant, is the well-spring of great happiness.
Her mother and father have yet to settle on a name, so at present she is known as “Little Baby Dot”. This follows on from her previous name, “Little Dot”.
Little Baby Dot shares your birthday. This adds to my happiness, if that is possible.
Mowing the lawn, lying with shirt-off on a garden bench, reading, walking to the beach in late- afternoon in my sister’s company, are all done with a lighter heart. For this I am grateful.
19th April, 2020
Through the walls
At just after Three in the morning
I hear my sister’s voice
Excited by recent events
“Oh!! Thank you for calling.”
“Has she a name?”
I hear the owls singing in celebration on the heath
A moth with two left feet tap dances joyously around my bedside lampshade.
n.b. Of course IT’s over, SHE has begun.
No name yet. 8 lbs exactly (3.269 kg).
19th April, 2020