Visiting the past

I think the weather today was better than I expected - or did I merely lose track of storms? I had a calm trip to the supermarket before breakfast because the road at the end of our lane has now been resurfaced after a couple of weeks of tyre-threatening hell - though the shelves in Morrison's were once more full of gaps and I was told by a very pleasant woman who was a "picker' - one of those who make up the orders for home deliveries - that despite currently advertising for staff, Morrison's cannot seem to attract new people to work there. "It's strange," she said, "because it's quite a good place to work." 

On the personal front, I started on a horrid regime of two lots of antibiotics as well as a PPI twice a day, so felt increasingly groggy and headachey as the day went on. I can't help wondering if it'll be worse tomorrow - it's a while since I had to take antibiotics. Outside, the gardener came and did the final cut of the grass and later the man refurbishing our iron gate brought it, gleaming and rust-free, and re-hung it on its post.

My pal Di then texted and suggested a gentle walk, and we agreed to meet at the car park at Ardnadam and walk along to the Neolithic settlement site there. It's a wonderfully atmospheric clearing beside a burn, surrounded by oak trees - an infrequent sight in these parts - and shielded from the sight of the road and the 21st century by a stand of conifers. There were acorns everywhere after yesterday's winds, and the leaves were just beginning to turn. The top left photo in the collage is an overview of the site, where wooden markers show where round house and tiny chapel were. The extra photo is of the information board overlooking the site.

It's almost 20 years now since I wrote this poem, rather later in the year, but with the same friend.

NEOLITHIC

Walking in the early dark
Of afternoon at year’s end
I see your face transfigured by
Unearthly light, a golden glow,
Smiling at a shared recall
Of something that we never knew.
The trees crowd dark and skeletal
As if sprung from that ancient wood
Where huntsman with their dogs had gone,
Their feet soft in the golden road -
And still the bright dusk clothes us round
And time seems thin and whispers grow -
The blood sings: and shall I stay?
But darkness falls and life is now
And home elsewhere and not among
The grey stone walls beneath the trees
Where hearths lie cold and silence grows.

C.M.M. 12/05