Overshadowed
Dear Monty,
A brief letter written about the reality of the day.
Today is a day off from tending to wounds, doing ecg's , checking medication and blood pressures, discussing diabetes control, taking bloods, checking lung functions, discussing diets and weight, giving travel advice and vaccines, hormonal treatments and chemotherapy, disease modifying drugs, syringing ears, monitoring chronic diseases, listening and encouraging, and most of all inputting data into the ever hungry machine.
My brain slows to a pedestrian pace.
I miss Mr Owl - but I may have found a replacement waiting to be revealed from inside a block of fly tipped thermalite found on the coal tip that overshadows this garden.
I feel overshadowed. But burning slowly inside is an unquenchable fire - it is held in a glowing ember.
I still love this strange mix of post industrial and nature. It is both scruffy and beautiful.
I was once a working class boy who made dens and plasticine caterpillars. Now I am a working class man making a gar-den. I have found a resting place here - it is found inside me. I try to make the invisible visible in the only way I know how.
Here paintings brew
And a garden forms
And blackbirds pipe a tune.
Paul
A brief letter written about the reality of the day.
Today is a day off from tending to wounds, doing ecg's , checking medication and blood pressures, discussing diabetes control, taking bloods, checking lung functions, discussing diets and weight, giving travel advice and vaccines, hormonal treatments and chemotherapy, disease modifying drugs, syringing ears, monitoring chronic diseases, listening and encouraging, and most of all inputting data into the ever hungry machine.
My brain slows to a pedestrian pace.
I miss Mr Owl - but I may have found a replacement waiting to be revealed from inside a block of fly tipped thermalite found on the coal tip that overshadows this garden.
I feel overshadowed. But burning slowly inside is an unquenchable fire - it is held in a glowing ember.
I still love this strange mix of post industrial and nature. It is both scruffy and beautiful.
I was once a working class boy who made dens and plasticine caterpillars. Now I am a working class man making a gar-den. I have found a resting place here - it is found inside me. I try to make the invisible visible in the only way I know how.
Here paintings brew
And a garden forms
And blackbirds pipe a tune.
Paul
Reading what I have written about my job sounds like inverted boasting - this is not the case as it's not just me who works like this - everyone is under pressure nowadays. The point of writing it was to show how valuable making gardens is - it helps the mind to slow and the eyes to see properly again. I hope that explains things.
ReplyDeletelove the dark leaved tree among the green
ReplyDeleteThank you - the contrasting leaf colours are the mainstay of this small space!
Delete