Saturday, June 15, 2013

stop/start...


I've known this song since I was a kid, and yet it was only yesterday that I clicked that he's there on the dock in the morning. I've always associated it with pending darkness, and evening reflections. Hearing it as the beginning of a day brings something completely different, like when it ends, it doesn't end - it starts again, or something else comes after.

Last Saturday we drove about ten minutes into the hills between the harbour and the mainland to go pine-coning. We turned up a clay lane to a locked gate, where we parked, and then alighted with our potato sacks. I felt like a poacher as we slipped under the gate.

Once inside, it looked like the aftermath of the apocalypse, and we, the scavenging survivors. Trees had been felled and left through weeks of rain so that they were partly attached to the clay. Some cones appeared to be fossilised, and smelt heavily of dirt, and wet. The scene was one overwhelmingly of destruction. Everything was a greyed brown, like someone had painted a watercolour and then wiped a brush across all of it. The rare new shoots of pine came through the mud like a shock.


It's only now that I think of the new shoots we noticed, and our collecting the discarded cones, as an end having a beginning. I'm so focussed on endings, and days without connection, that I forget. An end has a beginning. All days are both isolated and connected. Things begin again, even if that just means the world keeps turning.


On the way home, muddy from falls, achy from bending, we stopped at a hotel. I got drunk on a single pint of cider. And I mean old timey movie drunk - I sat there and giggled and couldn't stop; I giggled all the way home, and every time it began to subside, the memory of it - even just the memory of how my face moved, would start me off again. I giggled until I fell asleep on the couch.

An end has a beginning.




PS I promise to stop taking everything so seriously any day now! Maybe I should start writing this drunk again...

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