It is still outside … and … silent … it is so still I notice every movement … of crow or car … it is a Friday night, the end of the working week and everyone is heading home or … to the pub or bar … to drink. I have been drinking … a very good pinot grigio as I cook my dinner … cutting parsley and scoring a lemon fresh from my tree to add to the mushroom, tomato and garlic sauce with pasta … of course! I am sitting at my dining table looking out to the park beyond my courtyard … the day is quickly fading but the silence and stillness feels extraordinary. Suddenly I remember such an evening as a girl and my father is sweeping (he was an insistent sweeper) … I say, ‘the calm before the storm’ and he agrees. Tomorrow we are due for more rain accompanied no doubt by wind. But for now, I am IN the stillness, and it is uncanny, gorgeous, surreal even … it is so rarely still and silent in our modern world. Here I am on the edge of ocean and highway, and it is … silent … still …
I take another sip of wine and look out into the park beyond my courtyard … during this last week the power was out for the whole complex and as I have electricity for everything it made my life quite a strain … nowhere was there comfort … or warmth … of any kind. I resorted to the local café’s for comfort, hot drinks and food. Hmmmm … no one makes a cup of tea like I do … good tea (a mix of quality black and Russian caravan with fresh ginger - yes I am a tea snob). I am offered teabag tea … oh dear! I take it and suck in every hot mouthful. No one makes a pot of tea …!!! In desperation I sit in the winter sun with my takeaway cup and teabag tea. It is a poor substitute, but I am grateful. By late afternoon on the third day power is restored to the complex. Holy Shhhhh …. ttt this is how dependent I am on electricity for ALL my cooking, heating and cooling needs.
Night is seeping in as I write here at the dining table. I didn’t plan this to be my working space, but it is so lovely to be able to write and work facing the garden and beyond into the park. Ah someone walks past along the wall and against the fading light … I walked this afternoon before writing, and before cooking, and before drinking wine. It was exquisite being beside the river. It’s expanse was so lovely, generous … since my return I am often aware of how bountiful this river must have been to indigenous peoples fishing and living along the Derbal Yerrigan. She is a plentiful source I feel.
The dark envelops as I write and look out. It is still so quiet. Silent almost except for bird sound. Movement in shadow against the fading light. Still … gloriously still … waiting … pausing …
Still … I look up and it is dark … only a glimmer of light …