Saturday 8th April 23
I love Easter, the simple thoughtfulness of the weekend. The journey from pain to hope, of burdens shared or carried. Of course, it helps that the sun has been out, after all that rain and the garden, not just the garden but hedgerows and verges, are all so full of potential, with the odd spot of glory.
We are sitting on the Green, handing out wooden crosses, for folk to write on and then to place in the ground. A name, to remember loved ones who’ve died or are just missed, or an acknowledgment of difficult times and worries. We are surrounded on all sides by busy traffic and yet somehow is like a small oasis of peace and balm. Over 300 crosses so far, such a simple thing to do, that feels just a little profound.
Writing: On the Way to Goldmeadow is back from its first read by different eyes. (My baby has flown the nest and like all good homing pigeons she/it is back home again.) It needs some work! Of course it does!!! It needs slowing down, the action less of an aside so that there is more balance within the narrative. One of the characters needs fleshing out. I am not downcast. This is the part I love. The only question I forgot to ask, unbelievably, was whether the ending worked? Was it satisfying or too predictable? Did it feel right? Did it feel right? Like Sunday morning, Easter day after Good Friday. Now there’s an ending that is also, wonderfully, a beginning.
