Letter Writing

It is personal.
It is not remote.
It is thoughtful.
It is intimate and no one else sees it.
It is not on loudspeaker.
It does not want to be read aloud.
It is not for the world now,
But it is for history.
It is a richer, outward expression
And the handwriting is unique.
It is inimitable.
It is thought out, a précis composed, corrected.
It cannot be repeated.
It is of a bigger moment than this moment.
It has a a history and a future.
​It does not go puff in a cloud.

The hidden guidance of truth;
The future focus from the present.
I want to know what is meant to be;
That something deep inside that knows,
Like body knowledge
Or something that bypasses the stuff
​To reveal the hidden guidance of truth.

Mother's Scarlet Hue
Here, the colours are my mother painting at Land's End
And there, in the turbulence of some distant landscape in life
Is the chance in life that we never saw
And here, there is the colour of life, the splash splash of accents,
The hue of nuances.

We are the boat,
The ship of fools.
We navigate the unknown
And the conversation has changed
To a new place.
It was an old place of extinction:
Extinguished but burning.

We are the boat,
The ship of fools sailing
And the way is obvious
To the wisdom of the foolish,
A conflict for the pwoerful
​And I care more.

​A Sijo for Christmas food .
(Blessing for the meal in the manner of a Celtic blessing)

​Take now the gift of food and drink to gently eat your fill.
Think softly in your heart of precious moments past and present.
Give out to feed with quietude, your presence, replete, content.