Wednesday, 18 August 2010

More poeticism

Written some while ago, another poetical moment:

Homage to sheep, stones and solitariness.

Sheep are like Stones….except that the latter do not move.

‘Twixt sunrise and sunset one can almost meditate whilst observing these herbivores grazing on the grass in fields and one thinks that their movement is imperceptible.

Let one’s mind drift, look away or dream, and look again and one becomes aware that they have all changed places, surreptiously. However if sheep feel threatened or intimidated by a clap of the hands for example they bleat furiously and run ensemble.

Eating machines are what sheep are… unlike stones in walls and stones in fields that existing since creation perhaps have not moved far from their original place over thousands, nay million, billions, trillions of years.

A sheep born as a humble lamb soon learns to get on its feet to avoid danger, to move on and to eat.

Does luck come into it if it should it be killed as a lamb or as mutton? This does not seem to worry me anymore as I gave up being a vegan and vegetarian of over 23 years.

I climb upon the wall, the dry stone wall, over one metre high.

I could not have done this five years ago!

How wonderful to have such a commanding view over sheep and stones.

I am as strong as this blade of grass… oh drat, it has bent a few centimetres from my thumb. Breaking it off, again it stands tall and strong again. I will not weaken as before, I say!

I stand in this seemingly special place that I have learned… yes learned to love, this wilderness where one hardly ever sees a soul except of the woolly variety.

I have been back in France for less than 24 hours. It is now twilight as I overlook the barren sprawl of countryside, the trees … and SHEEP .. or are they STONES?

I stand up high on this stone wall with a view, up and down the lane before me. Behind me in another field are more sheep and their friendly poney and beyond to the west are the layers of sunset rays, amidst the darkening blue skies and streaking, fluffy-white darkening clouds.

Oh, marvellous moment to remember, this exquisitely warm evening when cities are far away, as I stand here solitary in wild, deserted countryside…not a soul to be seen, save sheep and stones... alone in France, with beloved England far away... as all souls are always all alone.

1 comment:

Carolyn said...

When you love two places, you enjoy wherever you are, and when you go from one to the other you're always looking forward to going "home."

You described so well the joy that summer evenings bring. We have to store it up while we can.