This as you who have read me before will know, is not an unusual state of affairs, but thinking about it at length, I am quite unable to explain why something which gives so much pleasure to so many people, should be the cause of a downward turn in spirit for me.
Beauty should surely be a source of joy, and yet, the bird-song, getting more isolated now as it gets darker has a sort of echoing quality, suggestive of loneliness,
I think the only bird still singing now is a blackbird, yet even that song has a remote quality about it which touches the heart.
It has been an exceptionally warm day for March and the neighbourhood children have been much in evidence all afternoon, a sure sign of Spring. Now they have returned to their respective homes the silence is more marked than usual because of the earlier noises.
A friend who brought me home from church this morning remarked on the (7) reed buntings in the back garden. She had never seen one before and was quite impressed with their little black faces, white moustaches and collars and chestnut backs. They are pretty little things and I am delighted that they choose to grace my apology for a garden with their presence, but I am used to them, and sadly, familiarity does breed a measure of if not contempt, at least a sort of indifference.
My (much quoted) mother used to say of me, that I "took my pleasures sadly". I was rather miffed by this, but now perceive it to be all too true.
Among my least pleasant characteristics is a strong vein of self-pity. Not an attractive facet of an adult personality and one of which I am not proud, but this along with spending too much time thinking about myself and my problems rather than other peoples' woes may be at the root of things.
Hmmmm. Not a nice thought.
With all the strides recently made in medicine, I wonder if they do personality transplants?
Have just shut the window and pulled down the blind. But, I can still hear the ruddy bird.
a bird song at twilight and beyond is so poignant! rather lends itself to melancholy!
ReplyDeleteTheanne is right, Ray. Evenings can be very melancholy, especially the lingering twilight at the end of a lovely day. It really isn't just you who feels like that, but probably a universal tendency, to judge by the poets...
ReplyDeleteTheanne, Perpetua, thanks ladies good to know that for once, it's not just me.
ReplyDeleteHopefully it was a fleeting mood, though I dread to think what the mood of the next few days will be.
The decorating begins tomorrow, and at present I can't move a muscle for the heaps of clothes everywhere.
Never mind it will be worth the disruption I'm sure.
Makes me think of the poem The Darkling Thrush. I agree that birdsong at evening can be melancholy.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the reference Sue. I Googled it and found it to be by Thomas Hardy. (One of the very gloomiest of writers), but it is a lovely, if melancholy poem.
ReplyDeleteI am having to post this here, since Google will not let me create a new blog.
ReplyDeleteThe format has changed and I cannot access my dashboard so this may well be my last post.
Once again, if anyone reads these comments, I cannot access my dashboard and am unable to continue blogging. This is the only place I still have access to.
ReplyDeleteRay, have just logged on again after our journey and found the email notification of your comment with your cry for help. If you click on my name, it will take you to my profile. Below my photo are the words 'Contact me and below that 'Email'. Please click on that and send me an email telling me exactly what has happened and what you can see so that I can try to help you.
ReplyDelete