My ambition at school was to be either an actor or a writer. I got the first part done to very limited success. I’ve only come back to writing in the last few years. Life, or I should say, some of the more painful sides of life, got in the way. In 2018 I got a cheap spring-bound notebook and forced myself to start writing. I felt the days were running short (of course, in a sense they always are – irony intended!). The first, experimental text I came out with was a series of descriptions of days from my memory. I wrote them from a perspective of accepting the concept of the “Eternal Recurrence”, a cosmological belief in the unending repetition (eventually) of all experience found in many religious and philosophical traditions. In one way or another, I think it’s an accurate enough view, a strong possibility, of at least an aspect, though probably not the whole story of reality (if the latter could ever be fitted into a ‘story’). Be that as it may, I’d like to share this piece (it’s only a brief passage) of my creative writing with you all – last now as it was first. Thank you all – sincerely – for subscribing and reading.
Living Days
First Day;
August, 1984
‘ It is Tuesday again. The little boy sits at the round kitchen table, eating the stew his mother has made for him. She sits with him while he eats and while the old wood pigeon coos outside in the bright evening air. It’s nest hides somewhere in the heights of the trees down the hill. It is again this very Autumn in the boy’s early years. As burnished fire, the approaching twilight daubs in russet and copper the leafy towers on the old Forest Road. These trees against the sky border the frontiers of the boy’s home, his world, the beyond of which he is only dimly aware. The mother and the boy sit together in this gentle, rustling eventide. Again and again this hour arises, with them together in the eternal return- never closer nor further apart in all of their lives.’