Six months have passed since my Father ceased to look over our lives and two months have passed since our baby was born.
I’ve been working away at a few projects this winter, avoiding the worst wet and snow. I’d watched a film of Adam Ondra trying really hard in some upside down cave in Norway. I thought maybe I should try harder, maybe I just thought I was trying hard..it was going ok… I was halfway through the problem, now was my time, I tried harder, well a little bit…then I fell off again. The difference being that unlike all the other times I’ve fallen on this problem, my knee protested, something strange, but in reality just the effect of time on an oldish body. I’ll try less hard next time.
A plateau high up on the south face of a mountain, looking to Spain across a flat valley, smoke from the towns and villages, make a disc of yellowish haze. The silence is strong, wood against wood in the trees and beak against wood from the birds. Occasional and sporadic gusts of wind rattle the dry leaves left on the branches, the snow removes all other sound, and my presence is neglible as is my sense of any self.
I drove across the mountains from a grey, damp and cold, through the tunnel into bright sunlight and warmer temperatures. The journey is only short but puts a distance to the struggle and darkness that sometimes descends.
My father is ill, and no matter how much light fills the landscape, the darkness can only ever fade.