Sunday, August 12, 2007
a whiff of longing in the air
It has been unwinterly warm the last two days,
this morning I felt cheated when felt the sun rather hot on my face,
because I find the cold winter my best time of making and thinking. Clear and sharp and enervating.
Well, I have been doing lots of thinking, but not as much making as I should.
But later this afternoon I felt an old, old feeling come over me, an unspecific, slow-burning anticipation.
By this evening, I could smell that earth-scent- promise-of-rain, which seemed only to fuel that strange yearning.
I recognise it: it comes from times when the world seemed full of endless promise and mystery,
and is the precise feeling of anticipation you have when you know the object of your longing is on the horizon.
I don't know, perhaps it's the hint of Spring that brings it on. I sometimes wonder when it is that we begin to have to really concentrate in order to make the world seem full of promise and mystery, when once it was a given.
When does that bright and shiny path leading up the hill begin to seemingly to lead to a predictable destination?
Ah, there are things on my horizon. I suppose it is the quiet of the sea, rocking to and fro with hardly a splash,
and the still air in its strange damp stink, that is making me feel some kind of quiet anticipation, of something changing.
It makes one want just to share it.
So I am.