Monday Morning Musings:
“It will be as if we never existed if our history cannot be read.”
― Minette Walters, The Last Hours
Ask about time–
or the night–
the woman of then
the woman of now
listen and remember
the voice of the universe calls.
***
In the book,
many people die.
They wonder why–
what they’ve done,
so many gone
from this new plague.
They question
their narrow existence,
wonder about resistance
and the distance
between people
and place.
And then the rats–
so many, except
where there are cats.
It’s a new world,
the crash of the feudal,
for rebuilding, crucial
to have the art and craft
survival skills and more–
and even serfs may leave
the manor, to soar
like the clouds that come
with thunder and rain
then blow away again
to reveal blue skies
and days that surprise
one with their beauty.
We visit the fountain,
the water spouting
in wind-blown sprays,
and children laughing
in all the ways
they can,
making sculptures
and eating free ice cream
(like a dream!).
A man tells me
about the turtle
he holds
over fifty years old,
he says,
points to her shell
and what it tells
of her age.
Not as old as the fountain,
dedicated nearly one hundred years ago,
public art and public show,
the craft and skill creating
a place for people
for waiting, hesitating,
lingering, as the water gleams
over allegories of history and streams,
and water showers,
but we walk on
admire the colorful bowers
of flowers.
We visit my mother
sit outside, the air
is pleasant with a breeze
and birds sing in bushes
and trees.
We go inside to see some art
a show and reception–
she has some connection
to the club, if not the artists,
and she can’t see their art
but still she charts
a course around the room.
Later we talk about the paintings
she’s painted
the work she’s created,
and when she and my father dated,
the clothes she wore
in that time before.
One of my mom’s paintings
We leave her before dinner
to walk some more
this glorious day
stop to say
hello to Rodin, and stay
for a drink in the statue garden,
the view a delight,
and we linger
but leave before night.
I see my daughters and their friend
almost like when they spent
all their time together
–birds of a feather—
all creative,
two artists, two who also write,
all who see the darkness and the light.
Soon all will be married
with husbands and wife.
These three—I wish them all
a happy life.
We binge on Netflix
eat nachos, and dream
of what the world might bring,
and I delight
to hear the birds sing
in morning chorus and in the night.
Sleepy cats lie
in peace, as I wish we could all–
the art and craft of living
and dying,
history told in statues and stories
past, present, future fold
the moon hums and sighs
while time flies by.
Here is some history on the Swann Memorial Fountain.
I read The Last Hours by Minette Walters. She is known for her crime fiction. This is her first historical novel. It’s set during the “Black Death” plague of the fourteenth-century. The lady of the manor seems somewhat too enlightened, but nevertheless, I enjoyed it.
