Out like a lamb?
There is of course the old saying about winter coming in like a [roaring] lion and going out like a lamb. Not so in 2013. The rest of the country is suffering from deep deep snow and the anger of the ice god, whereas here Neptune seems to be the angry god in play. I’m not quite sure where this is all coming from but as we passed the equinox winter came back with a vengeance. Last night as we drove back to our haven by the sea, we had to battle darkness, lashing rain, heavy flooding and fog that made it impossible to see the latter. At one point I had to back up a pitch-dark country lane for about half a mile because the way forward wasn’t.
Just been cooking tonight’s dinner and listening to the news where there was a major piece on a massive landslide in Looe which is pretty much a hop skip and jump away, albeit in the foreign land of Cornwall, beyond the Tamar. Although BBC was yesterday reporting that the southern part of the county was worst hit, the worst story comes from further north (or east or west, I can never figure out the damn compass points in this part of the world) where a massive landslide has already caused the death of one presumably terrified old lady as her house quite literally began to slide over the edge of the world. The whole row of house is now under threat, it seems.
Is this art? or can I make a statement that feels like art? Probably not without demeaning a premature loss of life. As the organisation I worked for (worked? gave most of my life for in reality) for almost ten years teeters on the brink of its own destruction, I am feeling at once sanguine and yet increasingly angry by the destruction brought about not by the vagaries of an ever-increasingly unstable climate, but by the ineptitude and dogmatism of one of the worst governments I’ve ever endured in my lifetime. That we have to endure at least two more years of wanton destruction of the nation’s culture (in the broadest possible sense) is as scary as the drive home last night. There are times when it feels as though we will drown – or be drowned, as the case is more likely. Praying that it will all collapse from its own landslips seems futile, particularly for someone for whom prayer seems like a waste of thought and breath, but perhaps pray I will. It is of course no less than a futile attempt to bring about a death and destruction that so many wish for.
But enough. I need to go outside to the coal house or we will shiver this evening. But it is VERY wet and wild out there…