XIX. St Cuthbert’s My plan: to gaze on David glazed in glass bejewelled, a rarity from Tiffany’s. Slingshot held low on pebbled shore, he glances over, searching for Goliath. In the background, flags wave triumphant, God’s inspiration, a spur that we can conquer, vanquish beasts. But today the church is locked to keep at bay … Continue reading St Cuthbert’s, High Street, Lawnmarket
XVII. Old Calton Burial Ground Ensconced behind a ferned wall, moss clad and lichen laden, lie this city’s ancestors. Tombs, mausoleums, marble headstones, monuments in granite obelisk, all stand – or slump – in terminal decline. They tilt and lean, bereft of those who grieved them. No solemn mourners now, they’ve been forgotten. Slaters, snails … Continue reading Old Calton Burial Ground, Princes Street
Three weeks and four days since I’ve last seen him. We’ve heard from his sister that his decline has been rapid in that time, she says he speaks little during her visits. Time on the frailty ward has not only made him frailer it has mixed up his mind and scrambled his memory. I’m prepared … Continue reading Unborn
“I think people are uncomfortable, so they say nothing,” she told me, “like people no longer saying his name.” Had that been the case with my husband, Ken, and with my dad, Barry, had my friends and family not been able to remember either anniversary landing on these days, speak either’s name, say something they … Continue reading We Should Speak of the Dead
I love Christmas Eve, the daytime, full of visits and last minutes chores, the evening narrowing towards quiet solitude. I feel content being alone on Christmas Eve, lighting candles, being quiet. I might switch on the radio, let the silence swaddles me like soft cotton blankets settling a baby for sleep. Silence brings thoughts, ideas, … Continue reading All Gone into the World of Light
It is a letting go time of year. The light and leaves are dropping, the colours are fading, the fruits all gone, the seed pods blown. When I’m out walking or driving east along the coast, I see huge flocks of geese fly in formation, resolute in their destination. They fly so high that the … Continue reading Under the October Twilight
C. tells me she is taking her laptop in to be serviced “as its sooooo SLOW”. Reconditioned, she calls it, then, as a quick aside, she adds, “maybe they ought to take me in too, to be reconditioned.” Now there’s a thought. When I was growing up, everything was ‘reconditioned’ with a lick-and-a-spit and a … Continue reading Recondition Me
The grey heron is back. I have been watching and waiting for him, and finally I’ve been rewarded. Last year he was a fixture on Dunsapie Loch, on the east side of Arthur’s Seat. There he would stalk, or wade, or stand frozen in position like some sort of prehistoric decoy. This year he favours … Continue reading Passing Through
‘Every now and then life says, where do you think you’re going so fast?’ We’re apt to think it’s cruel but sometimes it’s a case of cruel to be kind.’ Those are a couple of lines from a Ron Sexsmith song called ‘Gold In Them Hills’. He’s a Canadian singer songwriter with a voice that … Continue reading Every Now and Then Life Says
My dad would have been 81 today but he died a few years shy of seeing another decade. It’s long enough ago for me to reflect peacefully, to cradle his absence from a place of stillness. Not that opening packages of memory comes without emotion, but now any pain I feel has a soft give, … Continue reading Whole
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