Friday, December 26, 2008

Spirit of the age

This should not be written. Had my mind been completely saved from the flashing lights, the ''cuckoo tendency'', this laptop would be closed, my pen and paper technique revitilised. Within these fingers I can feel the spark of imagination, within the brain the taut eagerness pressing against the complacency...Black flurries, flames within the stillness...

A magpie, with its boxers confidence, sparring across the green opposite my window...The hungry cocky stare...A flash of white, black, feathers...

The first Christmas since the death of my gran was not too emotional...There was a sense of loss, a noticable missing element, if only it was the voice...She was mixed-up, tired, perhaps we knew this time last year that she was not well...The illness did not make itself obvious to anyone, not until it had taken hold...But the love we displayed across the year remained unspoken, just present, there in the eyes and the bitten tongues...The best advice is "to move on"...

Somethings are lessons willing to be re-learned. Or forgotten, best left alone...A new dawn to be broken, for there is more than eagerness in these words...