On Numbers (More)

It’s said pathogens

Have one aim; to reproduce.

We no different.

~

n.b. Dress life up as we might, but without children we have no legacy; we die out as a species. All we do has no meaning without the generations that follow. We are otherwise just marking time.

The sociability of humanity is how we ensure that children can thrive so they too can mature to take up the task of reproduction. It is an inclusive process.

Cooperation not competition.

CLP 20/11/2020

On the Street ix

Lost in rain-drenched leaves

Camouflaged by shades of brown

Spotted by kind eyes

~

n.b. So what if I cancelled my cards after waiting on the phone to the bank for fifty minutes? I came home to this in my postbox, with a very soggy wallet; everything present and correct. Thank you, Mark.

~

CLP 08/10/2020

On the Road xxv

On a two way street

travellers often cross paths

exchange kind greetings

~

n.b. Everyone has choices. Ironically, this bridge in Hoxne, Suffolk is where Danes on an excursion to Britain in CE 870, crossed paths with the Anglian king, Edmund. It didn’t turn out well for the Saxon. Besides being beatified soon after his death, little is known of him.

~

CLP 25/08/2020

Day 29

More sunshine. These days are brightly lit, but carry a chill that reaches deep to the bones.

The first swallow has arrived here and waits patiently on a telephone wire strung high above the street. It calls out to attract its followers to join the line-up. How many will battle successfully through the northerly winds? When you see these birds in Spain and France one wonders what attracts them to this North Sea coast. There are certainly enough small flying insects to feed them and their young. 

I mention the swallow’s arrival to a man walking nearby. He laughs, as if disdainful of this cheery sign. I felt it worth sharing. I wonder, what made him laugh so harshly? Was this a triviality because he carries great worries? Was he just caught off-guard by the lightness of the comment? For some, the unrelenting strain of these days is hard to exchange for a fleeting courtesy. I grit my teeth and press on towards the sea.

On the beach a dead small-spotted catfish, one of the smallest members of the shark family, has been left far up the shingle by the falling tide. Its eyes are still bright enough to reflect the sun’s last rays, but it’s rough, mottled skin is drying out. The slender body is already curling to one side, its tail now stiff. There is no obvious sign of injury. These catfish, members of the shark family, have several names, including Sandy Dogfish, Rough-hound, or Morgay.

The name Morgay is only applied to this fish in Scotland and Cornwall, highlighting common roots of language at the extreme ends of Britain, some eight hundred to nine hundred miles apart, (about 1,400 km distant). 

At dinner, there is nothing much new to say. We are grateful for what we have, but anxiety holds us tight. The unpolished surface of the old pine kitchen-table quietly absorbs silently spilt tears.

Christopher Perry

15th April, 2020

Breaking Wave

A gentle undulation swells

Soon noticeable from land

Catches eyes of pebbles

That slowly turn, drawn to the scene

Expectation of the burgeoning bump builds

The ocean cannot contain the power moving within

Pushing at its rounded surface

A large, complacent gull senses his peaceful drift is ended

Lifts up at a shift in form below

When the point of no return is peaked

Then falling, foaming, crashing

As the sea unburdens all

Creates a noisy, messy ejection

That impacts harsh upon the grains of sand

Tumbling, falling, rushing

Pushing up the beach

Exploring shingle, lifting stones

Re-shapes the land

Carrying bubbles of spume from birth to the last

It drives on up the steep slope

Changes everything, leaves its mark

Fresh patterns, colours; all positions new

Merges with another breaker

Where it starts or ends becomes unknown

A stronger force with two, or more, combined

Until the inevitable pull to return becomes too strong

Diminishing, the surge subsides

Slows to stop

Slips back to where

A gentle undulation swells

.

 

n.b. Breaking Wave is written in response to the first Globowrimo / Napowrimo 2020 prompt of 2020. Find a metaphor based on a simple action to present an (auto)biography.

Christopher Perry  1st April 2020