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STRIDING OUT (#SingingAsTheDarknessLifts 94)

STRIDING OUT

 

This morning the air carries the scents of fuchsia and tea rose, and I wonder whether an elephant hawk moth is eating leaves somewhere close by.

 

Alt text states this week’s photo is a person in a graduation gown. I say it is one of my special someones striding out in a mortar board and gown. 

 

I clapped and clapped and my hands were wonderfully tingly in celebration of all those at the ceremony. And I loved so many parts of it… that buzz of so much potential gathered temporarily in one place... the lump in my throat... the tear in my eye…the nudge and smile I got from the woman next to me in response to my extra loud applause and my heartfelt ’Yay’ on hearing their name called… the fact she whooped too…the photos…the meal out afterwards. That’s a great kind of striding out.

 

My kind of striding out was wetter and sensing that the photos would be far less frameable I made a video instead. I took a walk up Moel Famau. It looked grey in the distance as I drove towards it, but I had checked the weather forecast locally and it didn’t seem to be raining. I was wrong about that, and very glad to have packed my rucksack so that I could get used to walking with it before climbing Snowdon in a few weeks. I had forgotten my hat so as the rain wet my hair and the wind blew the large droplets in my face I reminded myself that I had chosen to do this and I would feel the benefit later. I took the shorter route up, and paused on the bench before the last steep bit to the summit to catch my breath, but I did it. I was indeed striding out with a purpose!  People are friendly on the hills and there were plenty of us having our own kind of walks and after a while you forget that you might look a little bit wild and just crack on because people still talk to you just the same. I am however looking forward to a drier version of the walk and I have located the perfect pocket to tuck my hat in so it is ready just in case.

 

When not striding out this week I have landed on the settees of friends and family for cups of tea or fizzy orange. Laughter, company and conversation in these places has gladdened my heart and made sure I am striding out with a spring in my step.

 

Here’s to all the strides we take and all those people who cheer us on.

 

Last July in his blog I shared my poem The Clock Ticks Louder Now as a nod to the Hurry Up driver in me that wants results quickly. I will share it again now and tip my hat to the fact that a year on I am celebrating the joy of repeated actions over time, and can recognise when the ‘Hurry Up’ is useful and when it needs to be quietened.

 

THE CLOCK TICKS LOUDER NOW

 

For the last three months the red clock

we rehomed from the charity shop

has been ticking more loudly.

 

I used to only notice if I listened.

 

Then I started to hear it when I bent down

to turn on the tv.

After that, I heard it each time I swapped shoes

for slippers in the hallway.

 

Now I can hear it when I lie in bed;

through two shut doors.

I dread lying down.

 

The space between the tick and tock

is just the same hyphened gap,

but my pulse tells me there’s something wrong.

 

I have started watching YouTube videos on double speed

eating my toast when it is a shade lighter than caramel

and there’s this voice in my head constantly

chanting, Hurry up, hurry up.

 

 

My thanks to Alan Parry for including this poem in his Coffeehouse Podcast in July 2024.

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