Island Blog – She’s so right.

This day we got soaked, twice. That’s probably a fun thing in the eyes of someone without shelter, warmth or security. I write ‘We’ and it stranges me. I haven’t said or written we for 18 months, nor ‘our’. Our garden. We do it this way. Our home. We like this or don’t like that. That separation is a tear. A tare. A pervasive weed in the cornfield. I remember them way back in Norfolk days and the faffdiddle pain in the backside thingy about us having to walk into the crop in order to remove the invaders. For acres and acres and all the way up to the horizon. T’was the only way.

Inside the rain, there are choices. I, no, we, but not the old we, were soaked in seconds and twice, as the heavenly rain canted sideways and upwards and fickledraft and slanty-sneaky in the short minutes from car to home or t’other. I had to change twice. But I could. I have options. I can warm. I can find safety. I have a change of underpinnings and overpinnings. Just saying.

The day, a day no doubt exhausted with all the rains of our island life in these times, slips into nightfall. It’s dark now. I close the curtains and whisper a thank you to the day, one I shared, one I felt alive in, got soaked in, laughed with others in. All of that.

I know that life lives on and it does, I see it, get soaked in it. But I also remember the we of me and I smile, I cry, I value what I had. Different now, ally mango but I like different.

A quote from an author I so admire. Sally Magnusson, from her moving book The Sealwoman’s Gift.

‘grief is not a rough stone the tides will polish in time but a storm that may abate but always returns, fiercer and angrier for the lull.’

And, she’s so right.

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