Air and grace

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© Cat Morley                                                        Risings above Battersea Park

The other morning afforded a cheerful happenstance of co-incidence: one of those wondrous, inexplicable collision of events involving hot air and gracious floatings.

Owing to a head injury many years ago, I don’t dream: the result of which is that I rise early. When the air’s clear and the birds sing, it is impossible not to go and walk amid nature. But on that morning, that particular 9.vi.19 morning, some strange force held me back from leaving directly once teeth were brushed.

Around six minutes after closing the front door, the midst of a wild meadow is reached. My path takes me East then almost immediately North. That delay now appears a miraculous gift as had I been even a minute earlier, it would have been too early, thus missing the majestic silent glidings into my frame of view by thirty+ Balloons wafting Eastwards, south of the River.

The Balloon Regatta has billowed annually since 2015, weather permitting, and this year raised funds for Onside Youth Zones, Samaritans and Place2Be.

Yeah: hoo noo? It is such a glorious peach of support for The Lord Mayor’s Appeal, the fund embraced annually by holders of this august office.

On this Solstice Morning, floating in splendid imaginings through redeemed Dawn air, rather than lament the shortening days from here on in, I shall attempt to cartwheel through dew in celebration of nature’s sunny miracle and the universal modality we maieut.

Image: Reuters                                                                That boot was a bizarre spectacle from a distance of around seven miles but the whole effect was a magical and mysterious site for sore eyes.

Launching from Battersea Park at who- knows-what- time, they made it to Elephant and Castle by 05.45 and seemingly wafted East to Greenwich.

Mean, Meridian and Mode

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© Peter Trimming Wolfe of Quebec gazing over Canary Wharf

© Peter Trimming
Wolfe of Quebec gazing over at Canary Wharf

The wonders of technology – techné + logos: this is written and posted while lounging against one of those infinitely solid, reassuring cedars at the southern end of Greenwich Park. If you took in coverage of the London Olympics, the Park hosted, inter alia, equestrian events.

What does this say about the world apart from how miraculous it is to have a hotly sunny, cloudless sky on a sacred holiday?

While carnage is wrought in Belgium, Syria and Iraq, while political argey-bargey causes the grudging shift of the chess pieces, while inexorable waves of migrants continue to wash up on shores they’d rather never have encountered, while there lurks in every community dark and terrible secrets, while there’ll always be those who wish to hang us out to dry, while limitless iniquities unfurl on Good Friday, it seems important to remember we can and ought captain our souls.

Thus, I intend to cultivate this discerning skill to account for actions by virtue of Listening to Spring’s birdsong: it is a melody and rhythm of life.