I don't cry much nowadays.
Increasingly my way of navigating life's rockier passages has been governed by pragmatism. What must I do to sort this out? Will crying help? No. Right then, let's move on. Let's plough through. Action. Distraction. If I start crying or allowing myself to wallow I won't be able to cope with what must be done.
Odd then that twice before 10.00am today I became watery-eyed over something on the radio:
the wonderful Kathleen Ferrier, who was to die far too young herself, singing Che faro senza Eurydice (What is Life) from Orfeo et Eurydice, and the final episode of the Radio 4 Book of the Week adapation of The Love and Wars of Lina Prokofiev by Simon Morrison, the story of Serge and Lina Prokofiev.
Both in their way heartrending but very beautiful. Love and separation
and loss. I remembered: those are the things I used to cry over. For
hours, days at a time.
Good to be reminded that my emotions haven't shrivelled and died. And good that I am able to respond once again to beauty.
I must avoid this becoming a weather blog, but the forecasts say that from next week it will be getting warmer. A pale, timorous sun appears for a few minutes then, seemingly overcome with shyness, disppears behind the clouds. Perhaps she will become more courageous with time.