Today I long for a time when I felt so resolved. I found this piece of writing, to Les, written in 1997, four years after his death.
'It's evenings like this that I miss you. When the sky behind my back bleeds in the window and catches the stray hairs from my head in a frizz of electric golden lines. When I have red lipstick on and its nearly worn off from eating passionfruit in one hungry mouthful. When I know that I am sexy and I'm full of loving life. Walking back from the 7/11 with the paper and I'm grinning all over, just at the juicy beauty of everything. I'm in Balaclava for gods sake. How can it be that beautiful, but it is. From the direction of the sea, purple spears of light shoot inland, solar furrows that break into sensitive finger stroking cloudlets as the colour dulls to a dark mud purple. From the city the sky revolts, with clouds the size of ships that billow as though the wind was in their sails. The yellow light that sneaks under the cloud before the sun dips from sight, feathers everything in a warm glaze. Colours come close, in this light. The red rose which tempts me over a neighbours fence is so matt, its almost a fluted hole in the surface of the real world. I want to put my finger in its fold to see where it would go. The night really does live in the trumpet of a darkly purple lilly that................'
And the printer ran out.
Life is so full of loss and beauty and love. I am grateful for the people I have known and the people who have nurtured me..., sometimes by fire I have annealed into the person I am today. Uncertain and curious.
|Les at the Highlands|
|Me painting Jane Gitar and Jay Bird on the Women's Mural in 1984|