Betwixt Lakeland & Edinburgh
Early … and oh, so calm and quiet – my soul, and the loch.
I’ve been watching a heron for a quarter hour or more. And I think he / she has been watching me.
And then on towards mid-morning. Hot, dry and very out of puff after the climb up to St Anthony’s Chapel but, all year round, the view is always worth it. And above the sound of my heart’s pounding I hear ‘rest awhile’ – and I do. Then it’s time to wend my way down towards breakfast …
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deep hush lay beneath
the heavy heat of past noon
and the acer’s shade.
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Momentous seasons give way, eventually, to quiet watching and thankfully slowed evening breathing …
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Writing is a journey of discovery that takes me places that I never expected …
… a friend wrote to me today. And – in the way of such things – I have been taken thereby to places that I never expected, wondering all day about the extraordinary gift of languages in words, and in music, which can sometimes transport our words so exquisitely.
When I was first moved by Les Miserables in the 1990s I remember being sure in my mind that Marius’ grieving in Herbert Kretzmer’s Empty Chairs and Empty Tables was not for one revolution alone, but for every reflection and reconsideration of past, present and potential. A Universal Song.
Hearts are breaking all over the world for innumerable reasons today. Too many empty chairs and empty tables. I find myself awed by the purity of young Cormac Thompson’s rendition here – a clarity that carries an invitation to reflect straight to human hearts.
May our words be quiet, kind and clear; may our music sometimes be hope-filled silence – so that we really hear both, allowing ourselves to be reshaped, that we may the better transform our world. A quiet revolution. Thus may we be taken to unexpected, perhaps joy-filled and hopeful places.