Creation, Poetry

Will I come again?

I’m all talk and no action about blogging, this I know. So many things I’d like to read and write about …

As for reading, the novel I most recently finished was All the Light We Cannot See, by Anthony Doer. I was slow to come to this one, and even slower to actually read it. I don’t think I’ve read a novel that slowly in years, but WWII stories are so foreboding. I read on reluctantly, with filling dread, because I knew the only way for it to go was badly. I did both like and appreciate this novel, but I wouldn’t seriously rave about it. I felt like it just dropped off at the end (after all those pages of foreboding!) and I would have liked a bit more exploration of the effects of what had been before. And there wasn’t quite enough ‘character’ in it for me.

Two weekends ago I had a weekend away in the snow with some folks from church, which was very pleasant. It’s nice to be invited and included in social happenings, and the fact that these people also like bushwalking is an added bonus. On the Saturday we drove up to Perisher and took a walk up into the snow, which I loved. I’ve never gone on such a walk through so much snow in my life, and it really was quite magical – so quiet and undisturbed, and the stormy sky above so satisfyingly moody.

That evening the group all went off to the snow tunes music festival. Being the old fogey of the group as I was, I didn’t even buy a ticket to that, and thought I’d have a quiet night back at the house with a book and some crochet. One of the others ended up staying back also, we got talking books, I read them a quote, they called up their 600 page quote document on their phone, and what followed was a literary quote fest over a glass or two of port. Good times (and more my style of amusement than the tales from the mosh pit).


The the next weekend I went on another walk in Tidbinbilla National Park (up 157 flights of stairs my wrist band told me) because one of the guys asked me along during the week, which was kind of him. I am making the most of having bushwalking companions while I do.

On the theme of climbing mountains, here is a poem my brother posted from the Poetry Map of Scotland no 17: Ben Donich. It says not to reproduce it so that’s the link. The first two lines are:

Each climb to the high places brings
a question: will I come again?

Can’t say as I have asked myself that every time I have climbed to a high place, but I will now. Life is short and there are so many beautiful scenes to be seen in this world. It is a shame not to reach them all. But I am also thankful that I don’t have to tear the world over with an unbearable bucket list, trying to do just that, as there is eternity to do so, and those things I might despair over at their vanishing will come again.

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