Welcome to the still-warm, still, warm rooms of Myrtle House where, although the heat of the day has dissipated somewhat it's still too hot to think of doing a very great deal except perhaps indulging in a few moments pleasant chat with dear friends; it's so good of you to tramp your way here, especially given the what other less charitable folk might refer to as 'unseasonable' weather; pull up a chair, sip a lemonade and let's see what's been occurring whilst you've been elsewhere . . .
Lots of bits and bobs happening, notably my involvement with a couple of dedicated friends whose ambition is to bring some world-class acoustic music to our sleepy backwater and, in fact, have been managing to do so on a monthly basis for nearly five years so far; they go by the collective name of Acoustic Roots and all of the concerts use All Saints Parish Church just around the bend from here as a venue because not only is it a beautiful setting but has the loveliest of acoustics. In August they are hosting a wonderful group from Atlanta, Georgia named Larkin Poe (after the grandfather of the two girls who front the band!) and tickets are still available . . . I've been asked to become involved in publishing a monthly e-newsletter on their behalf which, if you'd like a copy, you can get by dropping your name and email address here and one will be winging it's way to you immediately!
For quite a number of months now I've spent a couple of hours each Wednesday evening in the very delicious and pleasant company of some fellow scribes; we meet and each week pull a topic randomly out of a 'hat' - in this case a musical biscuit tin which plays 'Silent Night" - and the following week we present our offerings for comment and appreciation. This has meant that yours truly has finally got his finger out and begun to format the fruits of his labours in a form ready for publishing and, because I don't feel you've suffered enough simply by reading this blog, I've decided to include a few links should you wish to download an example or two of my works; they are, of course, completely free of both charge and viruses and are in PDF format so it shouldn't matter which particular implement you use to access them. So here, for your delectation, are Choices; The Lookout; The Unopened Present and the one pictured above Family Photograph - I do hope you enjoy; please feel free to let me know, whatever your opinion !
The gloaming has begun to seep into the brickwork of the old homestead and here, in my sequestered grange as dear old Matthew Arnold would say, it feels as though it's nearly time to seek my straw . . . I think of all the words I have written and what they mean; and all the words of people gone before and wonder what will happen to mine, lost in the maelstrom of all the others - for example, does anybody read Matthew Arnold these days? I know but a few scant verses of The Scholar Gypsy and Thyrsis and find it so emotive, even given its age, but does anyone under fifty even know who he was? Ah well, us poor scribblers have no choice it seems but to write and let our words drip into the vast ocean and hope that someone, somewhere,
sometime feels a glimmer of recognition; just like Matthew, I sit and wait for the spark from heaven to fall . . .
And look, the curfew tolls the knell of parting day, and it is already nearly time for you to plod your weary way homeward and leave the world to darkness and to me; its been lovely to see you once again and I do hope you've enjoyed your brief sojourn. As you walk perhaps you could mull over these last few words from Thyrsis; I've quoted them before often I know but I find them so beautiful that I steadfastly refuse to make an excuse for doing so again:
Let in thy voice a whisper often come,
to chase fatigue and fear:
Why fainstest thou! I wander'd till I died.
Roam on! The light we sought is shining still.
Our tree yet crowns the hill,
Our Scholar travels yet the loved hill-side.
And so there we have it; I hope the weekend ahead fills you with love and joy and all that you truly desire becomes yours. I'm off to roam a hillside!
'til next time
Be Seeing You !
* from Thyrsis by Matthew Arnold