Red

I said to my Tsunamis this morning, "We are each wearing something red today to honour a little boy called Daniel."

"Daniel from school?" Cappers asked.

"No, this is a Daniel we never met, but his family need our support today and they like the colour red."

"Will Daniel know we're wearing red?"

"No, Daniel won't know. No one will really know, except for us and maybe for other people wearing red. But it matters anyway."

"Why does it matter? Who is Daniel?" Maxi asked.

I thought for a while. I wasn't sure how I was going to manage this one. "Daniel is a little boy who died when he shouldn't have died," I finally said.

"How did he die?" Maxi wanted to know.

"He died near a road," I answered.

"Did he forget to look before he crossed the road?"

"Yes," I answered simply. "He must have forgotten to look."

And some things we will never see, no matter how hard we look. They strike out of nowhere for no reason, for no good and we cannot see them coming.

Yes, we are each wearing something red today to honour a little boy called Daniel.

[Image via weheartit]

Wind rushes in

I was sitting on my front verandah today (a place where you will often find me). It was madly windy and I usually don't like the wind. Of all the weather, wind is least tolerable.

Reckless, disrupting, tearing, heartless wind.

My children were playing beside me; for once lost in a game and the 'hey mum can I's were either absent or lost to the wind. It was just me and the whipping trees and rushing grasses.

So much sadness around when the new year started so promisingly, I thought. And then the wind blew this thought my way.

Still promising.

Still promising, still hopeful. Still endlessly maybe.

"If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same...

...Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, 

And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!"

- Rudyard Kipling 'If'

Never sad for long.

On we trudge, towards a skip. On we skip towards our maybe.

[Image by Kimberley Levick]

My own sorrow

A darling friend of mine passed away last week after a seven year long battle with cancer. Oh yes, she fought the good fight. She was always a strong, graceful woman who dazzled with her elegance and wit until the very end.

The funeral was today. Forgive me my public wallowing, but though her death came as a release of sorts, we are all devastated. This letter that I wrote to her in her last week might reveal a little of why (she won't mind me sharing, she was always so open and generous).

Dear Philippa

It has been too long since I have seen you, but, of course, we have always been this way. It is our way.

I think you know how much you mean to me, how fundamentally important you are for me being me. You came into my life at a time when I desperately needed a mentor, a friend to confide in and trust and guide me. You helped me face up to and understand something that happened to me that had blown my understanding of myself and the world off track. You listened, you loved, you gently guided me back. You did so much to help me grow into the person I am today.

I often close my eyes and see your dignified, elegant self. With eyes so compassionate and warm and knowing that we mere mortals are lost in them. Your presence in my mind is calming and inspiring and delightful.

It is 24-year old me who thanks you from the bottom of my heart for your wisdom, intelligence and bottomless compassion. It is me today who will miss you endlessly when you leave us.

I adore you, as always. For always.
Your everloving friend.

x

[Image via tumblr]

For Lori

Be embraced by the universe, Lori and little Chop and Bump.

Ave et vale Tony.  10.1.2011.