I walked in the dark, just before dawn, and stood on a little hill feeling the wind pass over me, fresh and free – blowing away all thoughts and concerns. As I stood, listening to the world awaken and come to life, I lamented the fact I no longer see or hear swans.
I remembered the legend of Malachy, the original occupant of the cottage; the day he passed from this life a pair of swans appeared and flew in great circles around and over the cottage.
Swans have always been regular visitors to the lake behind the house, and often at night when I stood outside I would hear them fly over on their journey – a joyous moment, each and every time. But, for a long time I have not seen or heard them.
Then out of the dark, from behind me, I felt a familiar presence. They had come silently. As I turned a wedge of 15-20 swans flew over me, so low I could almost reach them. And then they called, the first sound they had made.
Joy rumbled from deep in the earth, through my feet and up my body to my finger tips as I reached up towards them. I almost touched their soft breasts. I was overwhelmed. They were so beautiful, unexpected, timely. I watched them fly in a great arc, into the dark………
As I made my way home I pondered – natures perfect creation, and the first tentative steps by those early pioneers to take to the sky, to feel the joy, freedom and exhilaration. Canvas covered wooden frames, delicate but strong, that took them to the realm of the gods – with great rotary engines that moved them effortlessly through the sky. Someone took a tree and created a machine, elegant, graceful, purposeful and reached beyond earthly thoughts.
So, I found myself on the kitchen floor, with great pieces of paper taped together, and bits of string and pencils, struggling with major and minor axis, scratching my head, and scratching out arcs. Half way through the comedy I laughed quietly to myself. A voice behind me, from the past, said, “Bold strokes, boy! BOLD STROKES!” And, he leant over me, took the pencil out of my hand and drew a confident, solid, graceful arc on the page. I was 14, coming into the Spring of my youth, and making hesitant stabs at preliminary sketches for an art project………
When the internal laughter died down I put away the string, drew a bold sweeping curve, and five solid straight lines. There it was – drawn to actual size – my preliminary sketch. My thoughts and ideas took flight, and before long I was in the woods, chainsaw in hand, a beautiful straight Ash tree falling to earth; it was in the Summer of its life, its Autumn and Winter never to come to pass. I wondered if I was in my Summer, or already in my Autumn. No matter! This was my, “Chocks away, Ginger,” moment and I was gaining momentum.
I measured, compared, cut, split, measured again, hacked, shaved and shaped the tree, making slow progress, and each day finishing, tidying tools away and trying to fight the doubt, be bold, and confident in what I was doing, or, at least, attempting to do. Occasionally, as I sat in front of the fire, getting lost in great choral works, I took notions about how I was going to proceed. I knew I wanted this to look simple, elegant and graceful, but, simplicity is not always straightforward or easy to achieve; and, elegance and grace are not my natural bed fellows.
Arc – Greenwood Ash Armchair
Arc – Greenwood Ash Armchair
Each day I had to remind myself to be bold – hesitancy and indecision would not take me far – after all, it was only bits of wood and flights of fancy. The sky would not fall on my head – I would only crash to earth metaphorically. I could pick myself up and nonchalantly wander off in a different direction as though nothing had gone wrong; nothing to see here! Move along.
Arc – Greenwood Ash Armchair
I progressed…..
Arc – Greenwood Ash Armchair
Arc – Greenwood Ash Armchair
…..some things went well, and some not so well. I made adjustments, altered my course on numerous occasions, tried new things, and made a few bold and daring moves ( for me ) – not that anyone would know.
Arc – Greenwood Ash Armchair
Arc – Greenwood Ash Armchair
I looked and listened for the Swans, but have not seen or heard them since that morning in late December – no matter – they will appear again, when least expected, I’m sure. I look forward to that moment.
In the meantime, I will sit for a while, in the chair, before it goes wherever it is eventually going to go, and look at the fire, while my thoughts take flight. No doubt I will, occasionally, think bold ones.
Arc – Greenwood Ash Armchair
Arc – Greenwood Ash Armchair
Cum deterit – Indeed.