Comfortable (John Mayer cover by Jerun and Louise)

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The Beautiful Tanya :)

To the tree by the local pond

I remember the first time I saw you. I was walking through the woods with my family to feed the ducks. You stood by the pond, contemplating the water. But the water had nothing on you: you were the fountain, a spring, leaves gushing from you. A waterfall of leaves. They called you a weeping willow, but you did not seem sad. I thought you were waiting for something.

They let your hair grow long, so long that it swept along the floor. You stroked my face when I met you, stroked my hair. And inside that halo of green was our secret space. In that dark circle of earth we would sit for hours and share the rumbling patterns of the forest. I leant against you and read books. You showed me the busy routines of woodlice and centipedes. I learnt the swirls and scars and gnarls of your skin with my fingers.

Sometimes, later, when I was older, when I got to know you better, you were a climbing frame or an adventure playground. I would swing from you; plait your hair into ropes. Tarzan, running, swings out over the pond and back to safety. I was so proud. Looking back, I suppose I might have hurt you, but you never let it show. Your arms would hold me as I climbed.

I trusted your arms to support me as I clambered up your body. We were a team. I would stand in your highest boughs as a giant. But one day, I fell. My shirt caught, and you held me, suspended, before the fabric ripped and hit the ground. It was my chest that took the blow; I couldn’t breathe. Shaking, ragged little gasps of air, shock, tears. Dirt in my mouth, under my nails, on my clothes. I thought I was dying. But my breath came back.

Things changed. I was more cautious of you then; I felt betrayed. You seemed distant, alien, aloof. I kicked your trunk, spat at you. You seemed sadder, now. And the world was faster. I came to visit you less. I would see you across the pond as I walked by with friends or later as I drove past on my way to work. You were always there, watching. Waiting.

It took me many years to recognise the wrongs I had done to you. You had not changed.  I had expected you to do impossible things. You were vulnerable too. By then, I was far too old to climb you again. So my grandchildren come with me and we feed the ducks on your pond.

For the first time today, they looked at you, a little unsure, then back at me. I nodded, reassuring them, so they ran to play with you; and I sat with you, alongside you, on a bench. We contemplated the water together. After a few moments, I smiled, because I realised you weren’t waiting any more.

clocks

tick tock goes the clock;

it's an unoriginal start, I know

but here we go:

tick tock, tick tock

a tiny step forward in time

a pointless measure, really, 

purely symbolic

dripping through the day

a leaking tap or lazy drain

tick tock, tick tock

another, and another, and another,

like tiny soldiers they march on

to fall away

in the echoes of the day

disgust, I think, starts with boredom,

with two idle hands, too much time to think

the mini-revolution

on a battlefield of ink

between red tape and politics

false promises that wink

so charmingly

we sit and wait to be released

but to what?

more clocks?

Symphony of Science

http://www.symphonyofscience.com./

Blackbird cover

Blackbird

Blackbird singing, in the dead of night...

Unfortunately the song is very quiet on the recording at this end, so you may have to turn up your volume to hear the music in the link - sorry!