I have been waiting to hear the story of the castle across the river. Thank you for telling it. A demilitarized zone reclaimed by the Earth's vigorous green hand is a hopeful and forgiving kind of place, to my mind. May we spend this time of disintegration imagining something better for our world, and try a different path indeed. x
Another beautiful piece of prose. I love the idea of the birds taking on the watching on the walls after the people have gone. Thank you for posting. You’ve reignited my love of poetry after some decades of no longer reading it. Words have power.
That's a lovely thing, Lesley. And you are in just the right spot for it. Have you read much of Somhairle MacGill-Eain? I'm sure you have. But if not, maybe start with Hallaig. I don't know if you've got much Gaelic. But there's his own translation or one by Heaney. And you are only a stone's throw away :-)
what a stunning weaving of time unfolding in the story of the castle. human structures eventually fall back into the land...and if we slow down we can hear the conversations imagined or real...who is to say? and i always love hearing you read. i feel i've been invited into an intimate circle time of storytelling. a gift.
Thanks for listening, Anne. The sun is just now coming up over the edge and the guards are changing again. I think I hear them muttering in the cold :-)
Maybe 10 minutes before I read this, I was consoling myself by remembering that this is but a speck in time. No matter how terrifying the possibilities of the near future might seem, if I widen my gaze even just a bit, I can see & feel the insignificance of what appears to loom so large.
Your piece echoed that for me, and I am grateful to feel like I have companionship here.
I loved this piece, David. It reminded me of how places witness change in a remarkable way, and one we don't always think about. And it expanded my view this morning of time in the world in a welcome way. Thanks!
Hi Julie. Hope all's well. Kind of you to read and get back. I wonder sometimes if I'll fall off the edge of strangeness and never be seen again :-) So it helps to know that good people are reading and understanding.
Ah, David, I don't know how many times I have wished that walls could talk; the stories they could tell! But if you listen closely enough, you can hear whispers of times gone by. I always used to think that when I was out in the landscape on archaeological survey - snatches of song, children calling, conversations, animals....
The house is not yet awake so your voice is the only voice thus far to move any air here. And as your tale meanders across the darkened hillsides and peers back at those blue-eyed, jackdaw scouts one cannot help but appreciate all the careful listening that goes into such a telling. Such is the padding, the armor I bind myself with, even now, needing to draw warmth from the coldness of others, to listen past the howl of winds, determined to grow in sanity rather than slip, while destroyers rage with petty demands.
Once again, my friend.
The scented oil of your listening burns a calm, steady flame. One can see its light for miles.
I am ever grateful for these lanterns you light and trim, and leave glowing beside life's shadowy paths.
Trimming lanterns, tending fires, seeing the dawn before the dawn sees itself. I hear you, letting the rasping cat's tongue of the quiet hours lick you clean :-)
Oh, this is a story to be told around the fire tonight - as we sit and listen to the creaking and breathing of the old stones! So mysterious and heart-gladdening! Thank you, David, for being the storyteller of magical times!
What a remarkable neighbor to have. I have always felt the call of old homesteads that still dot the fields and hillsides of Vermont. The home and out buildings ever tilting toward the earth as they hang on to their last bits of foundation that hold them to bygone days. As if the over grown fields are reaching up to help them in the process. I picture the young farmers and families that worked the land and held high hopes for a lifetime well lived. I often wonder if their dreams came true. I wish I could spend just one day sitting on a rocky knoll gazing at castle ruins, watching feathered sentries take turns weaving in flight patterns through the dark stone ruins. Thank you for telling their stories, bringing me as close as I will ever come to touching the old stone walls. I have read Bernard Cornwall’s The Last Kingdom, and watched the series , as well as Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander books and series. Among my favorites. At the very least, they bring life to the old ways and revive old castles as best as their imagination allows.
“Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”
Dear Lor. You and I both. Haunters of roofless outposts, peering up cold chimneys, fingering the rotted beams that once held up the intimacy of a loft. Putting a cheek to a hand-sized relic of plaster still clinging on, smiling at an old private joke :-)
Apparently, so the stories go around here, this old farmhouse we rattle around, in our ordinary lives, sits on castle footings - though not a stone remains to support these tales I do sometimes, if I squint my eyes and the light tricks them in a certain way, imagine I see the remnants of the tower in the court-yard...
Perhaps one of these fine days, when I have no classes to attend, nor garden or animal or family to be caring of I will stop long enough to listen, maybe then I will know the truth.
David you beguile me with these words woven around your castle ruins far too expertly!
I have been waiting to hear the story of the castle across the river. Thank you for telling it. A demilitarized zone reclaimed by the Earth's vigorous green hand is a hopeful and forgiving kind of place, to my mind. May we spend this time of disintegration imagining something better for our world, and try a different path indeed. x
Hi Carmine, glad the old beast spoke to you :-)
Another beautiful piece of prose. I love the idea of the birds taking on the watching on the walls after the people have gone. Thank you for posting. You’ve reignited my love of poetry after some decades of no longer reading it. Words have power.
That's a lovely thing, Lesley. And you are in just the right spot for it. Have you read much of Somhairle MacGill-Eain? I'm sure you have. But if not, maybe start with Hallaig. I don't know if you've got much Gaelic. But there's his own translation or one by Heaney. And you are only a stone's throw away :-)
I confess to minimal Gaelic! I must check the English translation out, although I appreciate that it will lose something. Thank you 🙏🏻
what a stunning weaving of time unfolding in the story of the castle. human structures eventually fall back into the land...and if we slow down we can hear the conversations imagined or real...who is to say? and i always love hearing you read. i feel i've been invited into an intimate circle time of storytelling. a gift.
Thanks for listening, Anne. The sun is just now coming up over the edge and the guards are changing again. I think I hear them muttering in the cold :-)
Incredible, powerful writing, David. So evocative and profound. Please don’t stop.
That's very generous of you, Nikki. I'll keep rummaging in the bag of the world and see what I can find :-)
Maybe 10 minutes before I read this, I was consoling myself by remembering that this is but a speck in time. No matter how terrifying the possibilities of the near future might seem, if I widen my gaze even just a bit, I can see & feel the insignificance of what appears to loom so large.
Your piece echoed that for me, and I am grateful to feel like I have companionship here.
Hi Carrie. Thanks for letting us have a peek through your lens.
I use the Hubble Deep Field photo as the wallpaper on my tablet to remind me of how tiny and ephemeral we are against the cosmos.
I loved this piece, David. It reminded me of how places witness change in a remarkable way, and one we don't always think about. And it expanded my view this morning of time in the world in a welcome way. Thanks!
Thanks, Lisa, for digging in deep.
I smiled with delight and admiration reading this. Your words are evocative and spellbinding. And the audio is a lovely bonus.
Hi Julie. Hope all's well. Kind of you to read and get back. I wonder sometimes if I'll fall off the edge of strangeness and never be seen again :-) So it helps to know that good people are reading and understanding.
chuckling and grateful...
Ah, David, I don't know how many times I have wished that walls could talk; the stories they could tell! But if you listen closely enough, you can hear whispers of times gone by. I always used to think that when I was out in the landscape on archaeological survey - snatches of song, children calling, conversations, animals....
Hi Lynn. Those are mighty ears you have - scooping up the echoes of other lives :-)
Dumbo-style 😂😂
The house is not yet awake so your voice is the only voice thus far to move any air here. And as your tale meanders across the darkened hillsides and peers back at those blue-eyed, jackdaw scouts one cannot help but appreciate all the careful listening that goes into such a telling. Such is the padding, the armor I bind myself with, even now, needing to draw warmth from the coldness of others, to listen past the howl of winds, determined to grow in sanity rather than slip, while destroyers rage with petty demands.
Once again, my friend.
The scented oil of your listening burns a calm, steady flame. One can see its light for miles.
I am ever grateful for these lanterns you light and trim, and leave glowing beside life's shadowy paths.
Armor.
Trimming lanterns, tending fires, seeing the dawn before the dawn sees itself. I hear you, letting the rasping cat's tongue of the quiet hours lick you clean :-)
How very wonderful, your storyteller's soul.
Thank you for this beautiful piece. I would love to live beside a castle in ruins, especially a Norman one.
It is fun, for sure. But you have to keep an eye out or they'll be rustling your sheep :-)
Wow as always
Ah, there you are. Lighting up the morning. As always :-)
What beautiful words to wake up to this morning. Really helps my mindset in times like these.
Thanks, Rebecca, that is kind. I hope it made you reach for your brush :-)
What a treat of a post, David. You paint wonderful pictures with your words.
That's very kind of you, Holly. I'll keep working at it :-)
Oh, this is a story to be told around the fire tonight - as we sit and listen to the creaking and breathing of the old stones! So mysterious and heart-gladdening! Thank you, David, for being the storyteller of magical times!
Thanks, Marilynn, for listening and keeping the fire burning :-)
What a remarkable neighbor to have. I have always felt the call of old homesteads that still dot the fields and hillsides of Vermont. The home and out buildings ever tilting toward the earth as they hang on to their last bits of foundation that hold them to bygone days. As if the over grown fields are reaching up to help them in the process. I picture the young farmers and families that worked the land and held high hopes for a lifetime well lived. I often wonder if their dreams came true. I wish I could spend just one day sitting on a rocky knoll gazing at castle ruins, watching feathered sentries take turns weaving in flight patterns through the dark stone ruins. Thank you for telling their stories, bringing me as close as I will ever come to touching the old stone walls. I have read Bernard Cornwall’s The Last Kingdom, and watched the series , as well as Diana Gabaldon’s Outlander books and series. Among my favorites. At the very least, they bring life to the old ways and revive old castles as best as their imagination allows.
“Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world.”
Albert Einstein
I am thankful for yours…
Dear Lor. You and I both. Haunters of roofless outposts, peering up cold chimneys, fingering the rotted beams that once held up the intimacy of a loft. Putting a cheek to a hand-sized relic of plaster still clinging on, smiling at an old private joke :-)
Apparently, so the stories go around here, this old farmhouse we rattle around, in our ordinary lives, sits on castle footings - though not a stone remains to support these tales I do sometimes, if I squint my eyes and the light tricks them in a certain way, imagine I see the remnants of the tower in the court-yard...
Perhaps one of these fine days, when I have no classes to attend, nor garden or animal or family to be caring of I will stop long enough to listen, maybe then I will know the truth.
David you beguile me with these words woven around your castle ruins far too expertly!
Thank you.
Ha! We always knew it. Susie, Queen of the Castle :-)