Today there is light…an unlikely connection of a July rainbow (that she will understand) and a marsh (because in its unobviousness it is obvious to her)…its not our usual history here…but Rosemary will recognize…light is more fun than the shade…the sweet sound that calls.
Dearest Mother Peace…I passed your way this morning to climb an old friend…Mt. Tolmie…to see this city…
– images of memory that we carry for our cycle on this earth. Perhaps it is as witnesses to the elder who touches drum to earth before the rhythm of the heart begins to beat or to the Sensei whose belt touches cheek and temple before the belt is tied?
I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.
Augustine Mandino II (Author and WWII USAAF B-24 Bombardier)
Alone and discarded among other former memories. Spine broken – fitted with an assortment of mending tape. Once read…many times read, the life passed from its pages..now reborn by a caring hand that knew another story it could tell.
Thread Ten: The soldier statue stands on Platform 1 alongside a wall within Paddington Station, with a letter in his hands. He is reading. Please look after this soldier.
The White Rabbit put on his spectacles. “Where shall I begin, please your Majesty?” he asked. “Begin at the beginning,” the King said gravely, ”and go on till you come to the end: then stop.” (L. Carroll)
I can imagine them gathered around a table perhaps with a jug of ale, mead or warm cider. Finger foods, breads, meats and good conversation abound in tales of great imagination possibly anchored in some old tale of Norse or other.
Like inverted stakes in the hearts of France and Flanders, the splintered trees from the fields of battle stand as rooted silhouettes. Their splinters litter the ground on which men once walked, crawled or ran; the belligerent skelfs, large and small, hurling about tearing and ripping the flesh, piercing the souls of men. Amongst the metal fragments, aimed engineering, gas and shrapnel balls these organic shards of nature took their toll. They, the soldiers, from all the pictures – seem to live in a world of black and white, with gray washes suggesting a continual haze from which men emerge between the trunks. The colour gone, leached from the landscape, drained into the ground where the roots of seemingly dead trees struggle to find a source of regeneration.