So much happening I can't focus on one thing: confetti
thrown into a storm.
I take Dog to the woods, sit for a while on a fallen tree. Here there is
birdsong and green filtered light; shadow play, river burble, moss and wild
garlic scent.
On Friday evening, students gather in the old school hall. They are nervous,
regardless of grade. I get my Second Dan certificates.
On Saturday morning, similar: both the red belts get
high passes: Mr gets his Fifth Dan certificates. There are two new First Dans,
three new Second Dans. We all have photographs taken.
Saturday afternoon I jump in the river, feel the fast
water pull, balance myself holding twists of tree root. Enthusiastic dog-splash
at my heels.
Saturday evening there is an engagement party. Little
Granddaughter hits me in the face with a balloon: laughs, laughs, laughs, feeds
me a crisp. I see faces I have not seen for twenty years and still know. So
much can change, and not change at all.
Sunday morning is a sports hall, more nervous
students, a flask of strong coffee. Book sales. Chance conversations lead to
further sale opportunities and the donation of a 9 bar (delicious, good for
you.)
I am in the bathroom, my phone rings.
Remember:
'What's that noise?'
'That's what sheep sound like, when they're being
molested.'
'Molested? Really?' Such wide eyes.
'We're making fun of you, city boy.'
'Oh.' He laughs.
Remember when that city boy looked at my beautiful friend and
said to me:
'If this isn't love, Lily, then I give up.'
He said, 'I trust you, because you don't mince your words.'
I told him I would kill him, if he hurt my friend,
because she is strong, but strong people need looking after too.
We cracked a beer.
On the phone, my beautiful friend, in the emergency room.
The inevitable lingers.
So much bitter, so much sweet: but honey, if he had
never seen the perfect slant of your eyes, he would never have known love.
If all the scan shows is that faint pulse, that is
stubborn love, honey, that is such stubborn love.
Comments
You've conveyed so much so well.