The church and daffodil graveyard at Chagford on Dartmoor this afternoon after a delectable but miniscule fishcake lunch - made up for by the generous company of dear friends - and tea and polenta cake later in a different cafe.
It's late and I'm lost for words tonight. My big toe is red and sore and throbbing - self inflicted infection after digging around with scissors last night....now bandaged with dressing of Manuka honey....will succumb to antibiotics tomorrow if no relief....need to be able to get walking boots on at the weekend when we are going to Cornwall for my husband's birthday.
Been thinking about Robert Holden's favourite Proverb -
He who tickles himself can be happy whenever he wants.
Which means breathing in the drifts of daffodils in the churchyard, letting them bless my day with their short lives....
and not thinking immediately afterwards If my husband was here he'd be sad and upset and thinking about death..... and all the people who died in the war..... and his parents... and mine.... and all the pain in the world.....and miss all that fragile butter-yellow beauty between the gravestones.
And so I wonder how can I hold on to my happiness in those moments when his heart is turned away from the sun?
No comments:
Post a Comment