the wind was violet on the river:  sudden flashes of delight that rolled sapphire to the shore.  Sometimes the water resisted in a hundred points of gold.  But mostly it went along with it, slipping gently back to copper   black   green when the wind died.

There were tadpoles too, first noticed by their shadow.  Then a lovely black lab, and finally a wag-tail.

Across the bank, one tree was taller than the rest:  a thousand pink buds yearning against a blue sky.

This is becoming a habit:  going down to the river after a funeral.  I need the space to clear my head, let go of the story, find myself again after making a holding space for other people’s emotions.   And today doubly so, for the man was too young — leaving children without a father, mother and father without a son, and a widow who should be in the midst of busy joyous years.

And now, as a nod to the holiday weekend, I shall not pretend to resume work.  I’ve fed the squirrels.  The jackdaws are hopping, waiting their turn.  Molly is catching a last pool of sunlight on the desk, and anticipating a lap.

A good day, even if born of pain.

5 thoughts on “fragments”

  1. Kimberly. This is beautifully written and so meaningful. I know exactly what you are saying. After I have led a funeral I need to pull myself together and leave matters with God. A recent funeral for a nineteen year old was harrowing. The family need space and support in every possible way. This I am sure you will give to the family you have dealt with.

  2. It appears to be a natural way of recovering for Christians who recognise the healing power of water and space. Sitting on the beach on the Isle of South Uist with no-body about, a car suddenly drew near and out popped a brown habited nun, obviously from the nearby parish church, and obviously a Franciscan. She ran to the water’s edge and stared out west to sea. Then she sat on a rock and dabbled her sandalled feet in the sea oh, for some 20 minutes. Then she returned and we hailed each other. She said she had had three harrowing funerals of friends that week and needed to do what Calumcille did: sit on the coast of Iona and stare out west to Erin. She said that God was very therapeutic in that way. Refreshed, she said she was off to have a cup of tea with her priest and plan the rest of the week’s services. I must say that I did agree with her, but she put it into words.

  3. Going to Colonsay I often felt a bit like Columba as we drew near on the boat……well, at least he was remembered and somehow strength came from the thought. Hope you are recovered.

  4. This is beautiful.

    Almost dropped by earlier, glad I didn’t.

    Hope you feel better soon.

    Take care, love L

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