It’s Monday, grey, overcast and wet. Walking to work and jumping over puddles made me feel like I was home. Except I wasn’t trundling onto a damp bus with sweaty windows, dripping umbrellas and that funny wet wool smell everywhere. London – how I miss you so.
It was a good weekend for us. It was filled with friends, family (thank you, Skype) and plentiful amounts of good wine.
Yet, perhaps the best bit of all was yesterday afternoon, when we sat in our front room with Scott, Mae and Wes and a man we’d just met – Jim. He asked us to sing a song and so we did. We sang without warming up, we sang without some port and lots of water, we sang a song we’ve sung a hundred times and seeing Jim’s face after we’d sung, we felt like we’d never done so before.
His bright blue eyes were red-rimmed and open. He spoke of his wife, who he missed through and through. At first I thought she was dead, but then I learned of something perhaps even more cruel. She has Alzheimer’s disease.
And then I could see why his eyes were wet and why he said we’re wealthier than we know.
A Tree Love Song is a crowd favourite and we’ve had fun with it, but now it has a gravity that we’ll carry around with us always.
We love to entertain, we love to play and share our music, but more so, we love these fragile human souls that cling together in a harbour for shelter, each one of us holding our little candles.