Things.

A crisp cold south coast morning this campervan morning. The sky heavy and grey, almost stagnant cloud inching its way eastwards, the air cold on face and chest. A huge crow announces its presence, its calls loud and drowning all around them, sitting proud in an autumnal yellowing oak. A bit of a gentle breeze easing leaves around the grass, and the smallest, thinning branches bending at its will. There is a drone from a nearby ‘A’ road, enough to disturb the balance. A plethora of songbirds working around the trees and bushes, non of who I can see and none of whose songs I recognise, bar the Robin. The merest hint of pink begins to edge the cloud indicating morning sun rise.

A slow day of reading yesterday and my continued journey accompanying Bruce Chatwin through the Australian outback in his search for indigenous culture and the stories of the songlines. On part of his journey he is pointed in the direction of a priest living in a shack, consisting of four sheets of mental held together with cable, situated on a beach. The priest talks of man’s love of ‘things ‘, Chatwin paraphrases the priest and writes ;

“ Today more than ever before, men had to learn to live without things. Things filled men with fear; the more things they had the more they had to fear. Things had a way of riveting themselves to the soul and then telling the soul what to do.”

Not just physical things, but thoughts, our history, baggage and trauma. Maybe people too. Something to ponder on a Friday morning. The things that I have riveted to myself and my soul and what they are telling my soul what to do. Lovely days people.

I love this quote.

“ To lose a passport was the least of one’s worries. To lose a notebook was a catastrophe.” Bruce Chatwin.