Just a touch . . .

I have it at times, just a touch of what you could call melancholy. The days are fine as they are a major part of the quest. I am busy, focused in a free way, and left completely to my own devices as to getting the work done. It is the end that matters.

But, as I’ve said: Then comes the night. All the puttering, all the tidying is done and I am tired, so tired, but not that sleepy. And then I get it, that touch, and it feels like melancholy, but in the form of a serenade.

It is nice/not nice. Gentle/harsh. Sweet/oh, so bitter. And in reaction, I smile sideways and just shake my head. I shake my head slowly, not to clear it and not at all in disagreement. It is in wonderment really, that shaking, and I often do it when I pray too. I can have entire conversations in my mind, lengthy and complex. But then I run out of words—not true, as I can think of many words; actually I reach the limit of words—and I shake my head sideways like a smile.

I can hear the dishwasher running, the clock ticking, and some very gentle music played on guitar. Well, the guitar music makes me smile with hope and I know not why. It is its own kind of touch, as is so so much of the music these days. Romance of the Pines is over now and Andrea M. has impeccably pronounced the performer and the composer and we have our mothers to thank for so much of this, don’t we?

Yes, I know the truth of that, and now I am really smiling and with a kind of sigh it all becomes peace.

I wish it for you. More than just a touch . . .


“Photograph “Christmas through a Glass, Dimly” © 2018 Timothy Waugh