Stormy Wednesday blues, this campervan morning. October now tucked out of the way, November has announced its arrival. The air thick with wind and the noise that it carries on it, a heavy and grey swirls overhead. Trees shake violently, cascades of water fall to ground, leaf, branch and bough bend and creak, rain whipped to a frenzy driving into you. An upturned face is soon soaked, glasses smeared with water, but a sense of aliveness within. It’s fresh this morning, the light blue and grey enforces the drama. The sound of air rushing through trees, obscures all else, birds have taken cover, there is an occasional cry from a crow that penetrates the kerfuffle, but little else. The Oak offers a little protection for a short while. I am learning the dance of keeping dry, or at least attempting to. Rivulets of water stream down raincoat and hat.
A morning to blow away cobwebs for sure. So I sit and absorb the edges of the storm that gusts through me and around me. A temporary and somewhat intermittent sense of safety from the Oak, hat and raincoat, contemplating the day gone before and that which lies ahead. The wonderful humanist and writer Olga Jacoby, whose personal story can do nothing but inspire. wrote in one of letters ;
“ To me nothing can surpass in beauty the marvels of the world. I love and admire without reserve, and this is created in me even now the joie de vivre, which in its turn creates unselfishness better than any creed, for it appeals to our logical reasoning power, our sense of justice as well at to the heart. I dare not spoil for anyone the beauty of the world, smile I must to give to others some of the joy I have found. No one has the right to absorb sun and happiness without being willing to radiate it again and radiate it we do..”
Not much more to add to this, this morning. Despite being surrounded by the visceral sensations of a storm, the dire circumstances that we find ourselves reviewing on a daily basis, I attempt to sit and see the beauty in the world, but I will never forget. Lovely days people.
“ The roar of the gale rose and fell, Tempest's tongue agitated potently, Leaves surrendered in droves to it, Sleep deepened in the storm's fury.” Stewart Stafford.
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