It’s March already. It’s Wednesday already. I feel like I should be out Christmas shopping in case I miss the sales.
Who knows where the time goes, or why it decided to speed up. Maybe time has a new car, a new ISP, a new lover, maybe it lost control on the planet’s curve and we’re in a spin. The sunsets are still nice. I’ve been up on the balcony tonight looking at orange sands blown across a pale blue beach.
It made me think of Bob Dylan and his agonised plea to Sara:
I laid on the dunes I looked at the sky
when the children were babies and played on the beach…
I know time is inexorable and generally I plug into the learned, relentless beauty of it all. Right now it feels hard.
Dad has been staying with us. He’s 86 years old, patriarch of a family of ten, now far flung, and grandkids galore. He walks with a stick. This big man. He remains cheerful, good humoured (I learned whatever humour I have from him) but he’s old.
My wonderful Mum died in 2007.
On the day Dad arrived last week Wallington learned on Facebook that a colleague and friend had taken his own life. He suffered depression. He was tired of being tired, he said. On Facebook. His funeral is on Friday
The world is connected and disconnected. Atomised and always. Changing.
All this occurs under the grim template of the impending execution of two young Australian men by firing squad on an island in Indonesia. Convicted of smuggling heroin they are sentenced to death. It’s the law in Indonesia. The law is a blunt instrument.
Time swells and breaks like the sea. It comes and goes, roars and flattens.
I was having lunch yesterday in a park and I saw some small blue flowers in a green lawn, dappled by sunlight through the trees. It was so beautiful and present and vivid. Live now. Love now.
Back to Dylan – though his plea is hopeless:
Don’t ever leave me, don’t ever go.