A damp start to the day this campervan morning. The cloud is heavy, dark and slow moving. Persistent rain has driven me back to the van already. It is ridiculously warm considering we are heading into November. The sound of rain on the roof and the staccato squawk of Magpies and a few stout Crows this morning is as much as I can hear. Retreating to the van means no traffic report to speak of, except for the planes overhead. It has been a hectic few days and a quick chance to draw breath, before more days of busyness. It’s been a few days since checking in and the whirl wind of the last 14 days means only now do I stop for a moment. Holding onto the feelings of not being able to write having done so for 730 plus mornings has been something new to deal with. Reflecting on managing to visit Scotland, Wales and back to England in that period. Train with some amazing people and build connections, rekindling life long friendships, attend one of the most beautiful weddings ever and still have a few days left till November. So reflecting a lot on friendships and their importance and the delight that comes from them and the memories that came flooding back. Also yesterday and the emotions working with a dementia group and a lovely old lady who regaled the group with stories of her ARP warden father and Fireman uncle in Manchester in the war years. The voices that were gone. We chatted around sounds that they no longer hear. Steam trains, the coal man, the rag and bone man, the old manual typewriters, milk floats, the closing of TV and the national anthem and air raid sirens to name but a few. It had me reflecting on the personal sounds that I no longer hear and I miss. The voice of my Dad or my brother, the sounds of my daughter who long moved out, the crashing of young boys running around the house, those kinds of things rather than the noises of modernity. The sounds of voice and people. The painter Erik Pevernagie once said :
“ Let us drop our 'tin ear' and listen to the sounds of the 'real' world veiled beyond our inattention, and overwhelmed by the smoke and mirrors of superficiality. ("Like a frozen image")”
I find myself most morning trying to sit and clear the ‘ Smoke and mirrors of superficiality ‘ Lovely days people.
“ The sound of the human voice is the best of nature but only if it comes out from the feelings.” Giovanni Morassutti.
Comments