|Captain's view from the stern|
We had a full boat for the start of Water Story 2019, and a sunny day to sail the canal though we did plough into some ice at Maryhill; surprisingly thick! At one point I cut the revs and looked down into the boat and found the gathered crew scribbling away diligently - enough to make this captain's heart sing.
|Sunlight and reflection - perfect backdrop to our day talking of memory|
Our theme "Albums" led us through an exploration of how we remember, and what an extraordinary collection of writing came out of the day. Even more exciting was the catch up on our writers' recent successes: Angie got second place in the Scottish Poetry Slam finals this month; Peter's docudrama (Brexit: the uncivil war - with Cumberbatch) has proved a powerful talking point; Aileen, Pat and Helen have all had pieces published this year and Sandra is discovering her devastating prowess as a standup/speaker - roll on Burns night!
|Grey Heron looking for fish in our wake|
There was a hearty embrace of Gore Vidal's quote "Every time a friend succeeds, I die a little." and I confess that the facilitation of this group becomes ever more a marvel than a job to do. Thank goodness I have a boat to skipper, a valid contribution, and an opportunity to shake my head into a cool Glasgow sky as it swims with gratitude for the sharing and the power of these words.
Come on gang, submissions for the blog please! This was my piece to start us off:
Sometimes to honour our youthful spirit we ease that old album from the shelf and smile softly back at our innovative young selves, taking on the world as no one had before. We politely turn the four-cornered pages of four-cornered album full of four-cornered photographs. Part way through we lovingly close it, thinking how well we know these pictures and how impossible it is for them to describe the roundness of our days, the full spinning sphere that our life has been.
Our lives whisk by in a pictorial wind of events and faces, anniversaries and achievements, emotions and pets. We gather loved ones and vocations like armfuls of fruit till we stagger out of our prime, then, one by one, put them down… some gently, some less so. Occasionally the fruits of our labour might pick us up, carry us along, but gradually we all calm down and take a gentle stroll towards a setting sun, no longer compelled to paint a picture, tell it, or capture it for future memory. Here it is, now, its light dimming in our seeing eyes, its warmth receding on our smiling cheeks, our gentle anticipation of quiet night.
Bev Schofield Jan19