skip to main |
skip to sidebar
FiftyFive
Sitting in the garden on a Sunday afternoon as the sun shimmered through the trees, while drinking green tea and listening to Pergolesi's - Stabat Mater (Dolorosa) - which I did yesterday - hardly counts as decadent; but taking time out in that way is surely the height of luxury in the busy lives we live. I had a hundred other things I could have done, from painting, pruning, cutting and sawing through to writing more of what I had started over the summer. I even have to prune the paper I am to give in New Zealand but I don't even have to consider the indolence of the moment as thinking time. It was just down time, time for reflection and mulling and just being. Don't we all deserve that on a Sunday afternoon? Earlier I had watched the football team I manage draw nil nil in a very good game in which my (Under 15) boys had a goal chalked off for offside and so did they; hit the bar and so did they; hit the post and they missed a penalty - a draw seemed a fair result. Though during the game something quite remarkable also happened. A mini tornado, not even a whirlwind, more like a whirlybreeze ghosted round the corner from behind some bushes and ran up the touchline, taking all sorts of paper, leaves and the like with it. It only lasted a few moments but a sight seen so little in my lifetime. I can only ever recall seeing one other (I am not writing this from Oklahoma, after all). So the interlude in the garden wasn't so much a celebration of the glorious game but an acknowledgement that despite the whirling dervishes that like to ruffle our hair, life's equilibrium is intact. That won't always be the case but I will worry about that when change happens...
Sitting in the garden on a Sunday afternoon as the sun shimmered through the trees, while drinking green tea and listening to Pergolesi's - Stabat Mater (Dolorosa) - which I did yesterday - hardly counts as decadent; but taking time out in that way is surely the height of luxury in the busy lives we live. I had a hundred other things I could have done, from painting, pruning, cutting and sawing through to writing more of what I had started over the summer. I even have to prune the paper I am to give in New Zealand but I don't even have to consider the indolence of the moment as thinking time. It was just down time, time for reflection and mulling and just being. Don't we all deserve that on a Sunday afternoon? Earlier I had watched the football team I manage draw nil nil in a very good game in which my (Under 15) boys had a goal chalked off for offside and so did they; hit the bar and so did they; hit the post and they missed a penalty - a draw seemed a fair result. Though during the game something quite remarkable also happened. A mini tornado, not even a whirlwind, more like a whirlybreeze ghosted round the corner from behind some bushes and ran up the touchline, taking all sorts of paper, leaves and the like with it. It only lasted a few moments but a sight seen so little in my lifetime. I can only ever recall seeing one other (I am not writing this from Oklahoma, after all). So the interlude in the garden wasn't so much a celebration of the glorious game but an acknowledgement that despite the whirling dervishes that like to ruffle our hair, life's equilibrium is intact. That won't always be the case but I will worry about that when change happens...
