I woke up to the sound of birds & traffic, people going about their lives
& getting on with stuff. Schedules & deadlines, projects & plans, all of us
focused on the thing in front or looking down the road to see what’s
coming. A man lives for 90 years, serves his country, his community,
his family, plays great football, weaves carpets that are still in people’s
homes & keeps us laughing until the end. What a voice, so unmistakably local.
He had a great voice that you could hear across a crowded room & couldn’t
help but be drawn to. Such stories…we gathered round & listened, amazed.
The places he went, the things he did & the horrors he survived.
There’s a space in the world, shaped just like him, that’s empty & silent.
Outside I hear the sound of birds & traffic. I’m going to catch a train
to meet an old friend in London, go to a crowded room filled with smiling
faces, maybe even win an award, then catch another train home.