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Bryan Owen 10 Waverley Park Kirkintilloch GLASGOW G66 2BP Scotland
A cold November morning
Colour has been strained from the day, this slate grey, cold November morning. Clouds sit low on the hills and winter trees are silhouetted against the scudding angry sky.
The whole world is quiet – even people move from hearth to heath in funeral mood. A lone bird sits atop a pole. The air is heavy, sombre, leaden as if all creation were waiting for the final laboured gasp of the year.
Somewhere, deeply hidden in the mystery of things, a shoot is ready to burst through the heavy, sodden soil. Meanwhile, we live in the waiting time and slowly resist the temptation to lie down and die.
Today I visited some of our special places where we would oft walk without a care; I saw all those once familiar faces yet in my aloneness you were still there.
In the coffee shop’s warm and welcoming nooks I saw again the comforting chair where you would sit and read your books but even though empty you were there.
Where we once drank our coffee strong I struggled with tears in solitary silence; in the place where we would talk late and long you are now present by your absence.
My love, I desperately want to explain so that I can be safe in your arms once again.
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