Touched in lines...

In homage and despair - A note holds a simple smile.

“Among the garbage and the flowers
There are heroes in the seaweed
There are children in the morning
They are leaning out for love
And they will lean that way forever…”

― Leonard Cohen

---

Thank you lovely readers and friends for joining me. I cannot write of home or comfort with a smile today. I find no words of joy to give you.

I shall say only, they are lost in homage.

Altocumulus - early morning.

I have stared at lines on boards, in books, on screens and beyond. The space in between is filled by children learning those same lines, grammar, literature, the sciences. They leave for a home that still stands at the end of the day…

This has been a terrible week for smiling… for the worlds goings on.

“Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on…”

— Mary Oliver

The swallows are gone, flown, swooping over hills into blue sky, after tails on lines, lines of tales untold, no matter, they’re gone, they are missed. We hope no plight befalls them, that they survive their treacherous flight over distant lands, perhaps of mountains and forest, sands and oceans. We hope… we have hope.

And, across other lands and other seas are bloodlines severed, red with dead life memories, a tortured child, a mutilated sister, a brother, many more. Surviving the atrocity harder than not. No hope. Conscious of the brutality, ritualistic or religious, the controls are not ours any more than they are those of the innocent victims. We can only flounder helplessly over rippled lines, shallow bloodied waters of misunderstanding.

I walk my hill, following lines, lanes on the dry earth forged over hundreds of years by cattle, their keepers, wild animals. Lines that take the simplest path, crisscrossed over bed rock and ancient history - consolatory pieces in the face of the depravity of certain human (?) beings.

I recall a dream of my father, perhaps not even a dream, my tiny hand in his, bony and strong. A slate grey sky follows us, we are walking on crumbling lines of ploughed fields. It is a time of autumn leaves falling in brisk winds. We are laughing uproariously as the ridged lines of rich chocolate soil collapse under large and small feet, we, the two of us stumbling, I running to keep up with long strides. When I look behind though, it is he who is running to keep up with me, his eldest, wildest, zest for life daughter. I see fear and love. I do not understand they are the same.

Following cloud lines; weightless cumulus sing in alto decorating the sky with tristesse. We cannot, thankfully, know the finale but the supposition is of tragedy traversing whispers of disbelief. How is this possible, how is this possible? How is this happening in a world of thinking human beings?

I have searched all the gods places for the good in humankind this week…

And, I found hope on just one of the difficult mornings of last week. Timely lines came in a message from a huge and beautiful hearted, warm and eloquent in all she says and does lady named Carole who lives east and west in Scotland;

She wrote:

“ I was thinking about you as I was driving today and hoping that maybe life was calming down a bit for you. I miss your beautiful photographs. But you can do this thing. You are doing this thing x”

A short, simple note. Nevertheless a kindness in thought from afar from a lady I’ve never met. It lifted shadows and restored faith that day. I wanted… no, needed to say thank you in a bigger way than just replying with more lines shaped in letters and words. I didn’t want them to seem lame and insufficient compared to the change hers latently carried.

Carole, I send you love from my hill… x

I send you all love - I pray you have hope.

Before We Kill...