You can smell it. Even when there are half hours warm enough to sit outside. The next half hour it's time to find the woolly hat and gloves, then take them off mid-walk. Autumn, and every street has a leafy border now, rustling in the wind. How did this happen? Birthday season almost upon us. Relentlessly the months have passed, and soon it will be ten, and before very long, god help us, the first anniversary. Already my mother's first year in her care home completed. That indigestible change came just before G was murdered and everything rendered unrecognisable.
I've a sense now of surveying the pieces scattered about on the shore after the shipwreck. Some familiar, some broken, some inexplicable, some lost. Picking them up, turning them over in my hands, and looking for new ways to bring them all together. I am glad to be on dry land, and wondering how to patch up the ship. Glad I didn't drown. Sometimes. Mostly.
6 comments:
Dry land, yes. You are safe.
Glad you didn't drown too.
Me too.
Surely this is a site well worth seeing.
P.S.: I hope you can find some peace much sooner than later.
The strangest thing after a tragedy is seeing the rest of the world go on as usual. The fact that time continues to go by. You look around and say "How can it be a year since they died? How can things not just have stopped completely at that point?" But they didn't stop. At some point you decide not to patch up the ship, and go on a long walk in the woods instead.
Thanks all
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