We very nearly had some snow yesterday afternoon. A few flakes fell from the sky, and immediately polarised everybody that noticed - filling them with glee or dread. I might have murmured “it won’t settle” - and I was right. While news from the more northerly parts of the UK breathlessly reported an impending ice age, all the sky has delivered in the hereabouts today is a steady stream of depressingly grey drizzle.
I just got back from letting a friend ‘s dog out for a wee. She ‘s away for a couple of days, and asked if I would mind. I actually look forward to it - it ‘s a break from my day, and it ‘s a lovely dog. He ‘s quite elderly now, so doesn ‘t do much - but I get half a wag when he sees me coming, a begrudging trudge up the garden for a wee, and then all sorts of excitement when I make my way towards the kitchen cupboard where the dog treats live.
We always had dogs when I was growing up. During my younger years we had golden retrievers, and then during my 20s we had two enormous newfoundlands. I miss their characters, but I don ‘t miss the muddy footprints or slobber.
Anyway.
Today feels off, somehow.
Quite apart from still suffering with this stupid head-cold that ‘s now in the “let ‘s see how much snot I can make” phase, I read a post from an old friend this morning that caused me to stop what I was doing. She ‘s been battling cancer for the last several years, and has just decided to stop treatment - to enter hospice care. Her entire tone has changed recently - from fighting, to acceptance. She wrote a “goodbye” blog post. I don ‘t think I ‘ve known anybody approach the end of their story so calmly. I can ‘t imagine what her family are going through.
I ‘m reminded of the scene in Meet Joe Black, where Anthony Hopkins walks across the lawn of the party to meet Joe. I think it ‘s the quiet acceptance that hits home.
In the 1930s, Mary Elizabeth Frye wrote the following poem:
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
(Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!)
I can ‘t remember where I first heard it - or who recited it. It ‘s among the thousands of other bits and pieces I ‘ve picked up along the way, and put away for a rainy day. A day like today.