The wind howled like the blind dog my mother strangled back in ’64. It was the night (as Daddy put it) that the ‘owl embraced the day’. Or as another wag had it: ‘when that ol’ bitch got what was coming to her’. A trite pun that second one, but not without some truth. Not without some truth indeed. And far be it from me to poke a fat finger into the whole thing by reminding you all that Myopius was male. Far be it. After all, this isn’t about the dog, is it? Nor about my mother (who, not that it matters, I never forgave and have seeking to replace for more than forty years now). No. This is about the wind. The howling wind. Or else the trees, which one might suppose had facilitated, enabled or assisted the striking soundscape. The trees and the wind. The trees and the wind and the rain. Nature’s gloriously messy orchestra. Like pre-school kids on percussion. Like tone-deaf teenagers taking out their frustration though the medium of melody. Harmless, disconcerting.
All of which got me thinking. Yes – it happens. And it happened to me, as I stumbled through the rain, listening to the wind, remembering the dog, my mother and… well, you know the score. So, I was thinking…. And this is what I was thinking: Read the rest of this entry »
