(2017– an unusually detailed, day to day, mundane entry. Editing the 5 pages of writing to give just the flavour! I think I was experimenting with writing styles and needing to air some personal frustrations!)
“Bitter sweet, winter days….foggy, misty glens and saffron, snow burdeoned, clouds. The low winter sun casts a pale yellow aura on the barks and bracken. Air that feels like ice. Frost lies in the shadows.
Slept badly, tossing and turning, awoke to the dream sound of my mother crying. I felt very frightened….took a long time to get to sleep again.”
Followed by a long description of a very frustrating day, trying to get my bike into a car, discovering that the car would not start, the saga of trying to find jump leads on my Dad’s farm ending with this telling sentence…
“…and when I went to hug him and to apologize for using his time, he stiffened and curtly pointed out how I always seemed to have to spread my problems widley and involve everyone in my shit…. I saw red. He said I should realise how lucky I am to even have a car. I do not ‘have’ a car. I get to use the precious farm car, that would normally be sitting virtually unused. I pay my own fuel, I maintain and keep an eye on it….o.k. it is depreciating, but it is an old , well-used car. of course I am grateful for being able to use it and I express that, or try to! I do not need to be told to be and therefore subtley accused of being irresponsible and disrespectful!!! Aaargh.
I’d spent 3 hours trying to get his car started, to take it to his mechanic to remedy some serious faults that would have got worse if no action was taken. I felt gulity that I had bothered everyone and stupid that I was not able to do it all myself…..judge from the above what is true. I began the drive into Lochgilphead in angry floods of tears…”
(after leaving vehicle at the garage, cycled the 6 miles back to my boyfreind’s house)
“Such a beautiful cycle ride back. Really cleared my head….The bridge over the canal was spectacular. The pink, slate reflective water, the heron flying through the clinging mists….”
“The drive to work. The wind. Strong and powerful. Leaves in the last struggle, flipping silver, grey and gold in a frenzied battle against winter. The sea, steel blue with white caps beating the boats as they lay in the harbour. As I drove the huge landscape unfolded before me. The sky was early tinged with pink and peach. The shepherd’s warning, storm. Suddenly the sun broke through, but as if the wind had ripped out it’s rays, it hung, a spherical, glowing ember, for a second, before the rushing silver clouds hid clothed its raw nudity again. The ground, littered with the remains of summer green. The change in seasons.
Driving toward Lochgilphead the sky was cracked with pink and the autumnal blue haze hung across the plain.
Mornings like this make me question my plans. Something pulls at me here, moves me. I could quite happily spend the rest of my days here….in fact I think I shall look in estate agents today!”