A Valediction

A February Morning

The late John Prine, in his song, Illegal Smile, sang:

When I woke up this morning

Things were looking bad

Seemed like total silence

Was the only friend I had.....

I feel like this, sometimes, but John is late, now, and in another song, he had this to sing:

When I get to heaven, I'm gonna shake God's hand

Thank Him for more blessings than one man can stand

Then I'm gonna get a guitar and start a rock and roll band

Check into a swell hotel; ain't the afterlife grand?

[Chorus]

And then I'm gonna get a cocktail, vodka and ginger ale,

Yeah, I'm gonna smoke a cigarette that's nine miles long

I'm gonna kiss that pretty girl on the Tilt-a-whirl

'Cause this old man is goin' to town

When I get to Heaven

Which is certainly more hopeful, though, when I woke early this morning, I had mixed feelings, to be honest. I made tea and read the paper, but pretty soon got sick of the news.

Then Phoebus-Apollo begins to rise, freckling the frosted grass and breathing day into night. I put on my boots and wander to the graveyard, as one does (I take the air in graveyards, when take the air I must ~ Beckett) where, ghost-like, a barn owl stares me down, his mask softly spooky like a konfused klansman:

The stones are still, and silent, and snowdrops are gathered to surround the dead:

It is peaceful.  Just me and the owl and some sleepy memories auf Gottes Acker (on God's acre).  The sun defrosts the snowdrops as the moss crawls across the sword.  If only there could be more such peace....

The owl has no rings, but his/her feathers, coloured from cinnamon to scallop roe, dusted with specks of black pepper above and lace white below are fine enough for me.  

I leave him to the quiet of the churchyard and walk up Eaton Drove, past Limekiln Plantation, on past Eaton Farm and the dusty barn (where the owl roosts) towards Sedgeford. Black-headed gulls, in their winter plumage, pick over the newly ploughed field toward Long Belt......

February is often a cold, grey month, and some years it just gets in the way between winter proper and spring, but today is a bright, sweet day, despite the chill.  I try to clear my head, discarding worries like empty shells, breathing daylight into my blood.  It is enough to be alive, knowing it isn't for ever. Nothing is for ever.  Trump, Putin, Starmer, Farage, Orban - and the rest - will all one day be dust, thank God.....  

It is enough to be alive, and the world around me is spinning - spinning strands of life into a fascinating web of intricacy, beautiful in this light.

I note a buzzard atop a budding tree in Sedgeford Carr. He/she sees me too and majestically lifts into the sky, then floats to heaven along the Heacham River valley, above St Mary's church.

I turn up the track towards Inmere Farm.  Two red kites scan the fields around me by Hardacre Wood, one swooping low as if to inspect me, the tail switching gently to steer the beautiful body across the drafts:

Then, down Fring Road, two hares, mistaking the bright day for March, play a mating game:

Where did she go?

Here I am!

Yes, there is love and wonder in the world, if only you can find it.....
Soon I am home again, and it's still only ten o'clock.  John Prine comes to mind again:

It's gonna be a long Monday

Sittin' all alone on a mountain

By a river that has no end

It's gonna be a long Monday

Stuck like the tick of a clock

That's come unwound - again

And again

Long Monday

But, as ever there are silver linings and there are clouds.  I walked this walk, and wrote this piece, thinking of my friend, novelist Simon Mawer, who died unexpectedly at the age of 76 a few days ago. My thoughts go out to Connie, Matthew and Julia, and to his grandchildren, who will grow without him now.  But I have to think pleasant thoughts of happy times.  Only a fortnight ago Simon contributed to the National Brain Appeal in response to my Coastal Path walk. And only last August we had a happy lunch in Ely.

And forty-five years or so ago we sat on his narrow terrace overlooking the village of Formello, north of Rome, sipping rosso from Torre in Pietra, putting the world to rights while the swifts screamed around, drinking the mosquitoes in the evening air, then mysteriously morphing into bats as the light faded, and night fell.

Now the night has really fallen.

Sleep well Simon.

California Dreamin'

Cold Weather Blues

It's a commonplace that January is the Bluest month, and this year perhaps more than usual.  The feasting is over, the King made a speech without a stutter, and the Duke is raking in the profits of his unhappiness.  For us, poor mortals, without the blue in our blood, things don't got no better:

Whoa, times don't get no better

Peoples, I'm gonna have to go

Times don't get no better

Peoples, I'm gonna have to go

Well, you know I'm going back down south

People, where the weather suits my clothes

Muddy Waters

Cold Weather Blues

Yes, it's time to dream, as Dreamin's all we got. O for a beaker full of the warm South, sang Johnny Keats, while the Mamas and the Papas were California Dreamin:

All the leaves are brown (all the leaves are brown)

And the sky is gray (and the sky is gray)

I've been for a walk (I've been for a walk)

On a winter's day (on a winter's day)

I'd be safe and warm (I'd be safe and warm)

If I was in L.A. (if I was in L.A.)

Here the sun may shine, but it is low in the sky, backlighting locked gates:

It's a cold wind that shakes the reeds:

And whips The Wash to muddy frenzy:

Or blows the bins to the wrong addresses:

Up on Lodge Hill, skittish Ponies are nickering as they shelter among the trees:

If I were a goose I would skein away to where the skies aren't grey - or is that blue sky thinking?

In the meanwhile, I have to wrap up and make the best of my weary shanks:

California dreamin' (California dreamin')

On such a winter's day

Stopped into a church

I passed along the way

Well, I got down on my knees (got down on my knees)

And I pretend to pray (I pretend to pray)

You know the preacher like the cold (preacher like the cold)

He knows I'm gonna stay (knows I'm gonna stay)

I've been for a walk (I've been for a walk)

On a winter's day (on a winter's day)

If I didn't tell her (if I didn't tell her)

I could leave today (I could leave today)

Outside, the world is shut down:

You can't even buy an ice cream:

Let alone a Sub or a Snack:

 

And the beach is not for the living:

So I head inland for the path to sweetness:

Oh, so cold up north that the birds can't hardly fly

So cold up north that the birds can't hardly fly

I'm going back south

And let this winter pass on by

And let this winter pass on by

And let this winter pass on by

Let this winter pass on by, yeah

Time to tuck up nice and warm:

And await the new dawn:

What have I become

My sweetest friend?

Everyone I know

Goes away in the end

And you could have it all

My empire of dirt

I will let you down

Hurt

Bill Rice, Jerry Foster

With thanks to:

McKinley Morganfield (Muddy Waters)

John Edmund Andrew Phillips / Michelle Gilliam Phillips (The Mamas & The Papas)

Bill Rice & Jerry Foster