Catch the sun going down,waving goodbye ,
Fly with its spectrum lights,
Dazzle ,crackle and pop!
Oh how wonderful the rays converge in a light show,
Never get bored when the colours of the setting appear,
This winter blaze of glory,telling its familiar story,
Illuminates any journey,any meditation,any walk,anything !!
This mild Winter,punctuated as it has been with rain ,more rain,and heavy showers,exists in temperate climates in my locality.Why,this holiday time,in between Christmas and new year has seen the lawn dressed with a soft blanket of frost this morning.Its quite a surprise to me and one that in previous years would have been an almost daily norm,
This mild Winter, though hasn’t been marked by freezing temperatures or the prelude to a harsh Winter.It lulls us into a false sense of security to a place that we are not totally able to process as part of our historical reality.Like our country at large,stuff might be happening that we feel is uncharted,enigmatic and worrying.This stillness in the air ,briefing interrupted by the sound of a lone seagull has ,to me,some context,and that is the inland flight of this sea bird implies a roughness at sea.
This mild Winter, attracts a cautious mood among our people here in Britain as we become exasperated with our politicians,not just in a bipartisan way,but en masse.We Just,to coin a well oiled phrase:”Want them to get on with it”.Normally,life in the Palace of Westminster goes on with our knowledge but maybe not through the microscopic lens of the media that is now flooded our televisions.This Autumn has seen an almost fanatical coverage that has been,at times,almost Orwellian.
But we can’t affect as much in life as we might think we can as our destinies are rarely completely within our hands.Our politicians jaw jaw but we want more than just words and empty jesters to fuel our hopes as we strife for some sort of plan.So this mild Autumn is anything but in the word of navigating living standards.
This mild Winter at the sharp end has seen those desperate for sanctuary in this country brave the English Channel in craft that belong near ,or just out of the break water and not in the most busiest shipping lanes in the world.It struck me that these folks are indeed desperate ,victims of unscrupulous as they were carried in these crafts without lifejackets ,their survival completely compromised,their sea captains amoral.
So,this mild Winter,soft on density of snow,soft on ice ,but not so soft on the homeless,the children in hostels,the insecurities of so many regarding the future,why it has been a harsh winter .
So,I reckon that we might have to wrap up in this mild Winter as we grapple with the life we don’t know,the future that isn’t secure,the problems that life throws at us.Good luck with it though.
4 wheels,attached to a drive shaft,connected as they are to the internal combustion engine.As the carburettor injects the fuel from its system,it unites with the electrical system ,that tried and tested circuit with coil and distributer spark plug and ignition point becomes the nuts and bolts of the basic car.With rack and pinion steering ,and maybe a sat of Goodyear tyres of radials and cross ply we head for the open road.
That paragraph first written,a mixture of fact and practicality is to me,the essence of the motor car.Nowadays,the performance of the modern engines,the computers systems controlling every aspect of the driving experience could blur the lines between the engineering and the part the driver and the passengers play .With the comforts ,the air con as standard on most models ,coupled with the superior suspensions give the feeling that your driving on a cushion of air.Gone are the days when motoring was a trip into the unknown of wether the vehicle could be relied upon to complete its journey or even start for that matter.Driving has become very crowded with precious little road space ,but the cars on the road eclipse anything that I observed as a child.
Yesterday,as it was Christmas Day,saw a car famine on the motorways leading towards London and to Heathrow airport,and it reminded me of the original concept that came with the early introductions of motorways in Britain in the 1960s ,and on into the seventies and eighties where an explosion of fast road networks crisscrossed the country linking our towns and cities .Driving along the M27 towards the M3 and eventually joining the M25 was a seamless mission that took me by surprise,leading me to arrive at the airport in bags of time.
While the airport wasn’t a ghost town in anyway at all,it had the atmosphere of less intensity,more of a holiday outing before the crowds.It struck me that there was space yesterday ,that space that we were all promised those decades ago when that more efficient road system was conceived.If an accidental bonus of picking up a family member from the airport on Christmas Day meant an observation of almost resistant calmness,it struck me that design and intent are often two separate things,If those designers could have viewed their system from afar on that day,they might have been extremely proud of themselves.
We,the practical and realistic know that the majority of people who use the roads systems around the cities and conorbations were safely tucked I
At home yesterday with the exception of those off on holiday or returning home to their families for the holiday.Yes,it was a fantasy that quietness,that space,that time to breath ,but I suppose we can’t blame the system for being such a success,can we?
So driving home for Christmas is quite an emotive thing,but the systems from the car we drive,to the network we use is a marvel of itself,especially on the day such as Christmas Day.
Precious light refracted through clouds of darkness,
Morning dews in a bowl of muesli and toast to host ,
First cup of tea in darkness ,fumbling for kettle,
Dogs fuss at having to go out-hate the wet!!
Shaver needs a charge,shoes on,wrong foot once,
Shortest day eve ,short light,short of time,short of …….
Tomorrow is another day,another light short day,
Roll on Christmas to turn on our light source,
Tinsel,trees a glow,decorations draped to attract the precious light,
Roll on the light ,the dawn of the solstice ,bring in the light,
Christmas light anybody?
He reached the edge ,the precipice of perception,
His thoughts,garnished with herbs of patience dressed his mind,
That otherness,that provincial feeling of gratitude for a visiting work of art,
He was blinded ,he was blurred by the Dali colour,the juxtaposition ,
Never fully fooled by the art of contrivance,his mind retreated into a silent polemic,
If Turners colour,vibrancy could talk,it might enfuse him to splash his energy,his passion,his lionheart of manliness into a new appreciation of light,
This day in December,shortened by the season,heralding the shortest day,deludes us ,
But each day has its own colour ,it’s own identity by which we feed ,we forge a life shape of moments into a bottle of emotional culture vats,,
The children that drew ,that made hats,amulets to wear,decorations for loved ones to adorn a top the Christmas tree,
What joy they bestow on mature people,riven with cynical life,with price rises,and Brexit fears,
Why the Christmas art and crafts movement is alive and well in the sticky back Peter Pan world of Blue Peter inspired newly qualified teacher with an eye in Political correctness and middle class fairness,
The children,bereft of family,sick in mind and body,all desire to make things better for their loved ones,they are hard wired ,
So,this day,this colour drenched larder of silent dreams,desperate to prove,to live,to rejoice,all express their Christmas,a spirit ,a just being .
What a thing for a mature man to observe ,the poor child within himself still lives in the generations of the dysfunctional,the sick,the fostered,the distant stare ,clutching the hat of spray on gold,the taffeta ,the flowers,the scent of otherness,
Why,the patterns,the shapes of artist long gone,might inspire the sick,the looked after child to express,to find something other than tests,and tables,speedy Or otherwise to just live,
My thoughts in solitude ,in contemplation in motion ,recorded ,released,revisited,
Live life ,love the personal joy of expression,teach it,live it,reflect upon it,
Merry creativeness.
As the woods just up from my house welcomed me this afternoon,I reflected on days spent with my son ,firstly as a child,then when he was a teenager,and latterly,as a young man.To linger in thought ,to dwell in his memories,his life made acute by the Autumn leaves ,soaked as they were by fresh rain ,marinaded by the atmosphere.These memories,a sustaining friend in times of missing,why they sustain us,fortify us to remain 8n touch with our existence.
Walking,all be it for just an hour,rejuvenated me from my own Moro’s it’s,by own maudlin pre winter rectitude ,forming an outer coating of brightness as my gait increased along the woodland pathways.These lanes,known by my son,run by him,cycled by him,enabled me to commune with him .As I did,some music that we have shared with one another glued me to the forest in a more profound way almost.That stage in the walk allowed me to navigate my mood away from the forlorn,to the pleasant memory and the tide turned away from the black dog to a peace like state.It soothes me,drew me upwards to a mood Zenith where I might have stared a nadir like abyss had I not made myself venture outside,Those rains,my companion as a child in Cornwall,were forgotten with my waterproof coat,my legs doing their job ,getting me to my peaceful place ,by pleasant memories.
They say that as you grow older,the only thing you have left is your memories.But really,memories are such powerful vehicles to mood management and even mood changes .So,it’s not a bad life this walking with the dogs in the forest,
More memories to follow.
Thank you.
Kernowsmith.
kernowsmith 