January 2018
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Beautiful World

Resolved: that I will blog more this year, on the perhaps mistaken notion that writing regularly, or semi-regularly, or irregularly, will serve as an anchor and keep me grounded and work against my thoughts whirling off down dark avenues the way they sometimes do.

We shall see.

Related: I was surfing through book blogs, looking for inspiration to add to my reading list, when I came across this poem at the blog of the same name. I fell in love with it and now I need to seek out more of Mr. Causley’s work.

They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden Rock:
My father, twenty-five, in the same suit
Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack
Still two years old and trembling at his feet.

My mother, twenty-three, in a sprigged dress
Drawn at the waist, ribbon in her straw hat,
Has spread the stiff white cloth over the grass.
Her hair, the colour of wheat, takes on the light.

She pours tea from a Thermos, the milk straight
From an old H.P. sauce-bottle, a screw
Of paper for a cork; slowly sets out
The same three plates, the tin cups painted blue.

The sky whitens as if lit by three suns.
My mother shades her eyes and looks my way
Over the drifted stream. My father spins
A stone along the water. Leisurely,

They beckon to me from the other bank.
I hear them call, ‘See where the stream-path is!
Crossing is not as hard as you might think.’
I had not thought that it would be like this.

Eden Rock, by Charles Causley (1917 to 2003)


See you around.

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