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Che

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About Che

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  • Gender
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  • Location
    Nomadic
  • Interests
    Nature
  • Weather Preferences
    Abundance

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  1. Changeability...today in Sheffield.
  2. In either June 1980 or 1981 fell my sister’s 4th or 5th birthday. As her eldest (and at that time only) sibling I arranged entertainment for her birthday party. I had been secretly making puppets and painting up a cardboard puppet-show “stage” and composed a show for her and her little mates. The party was supposed to take place in our little back-garden, under the apple tree planted right in the centre of the lawn. My mother had made the usual late ‘70’s/early 80’s party food (jelly and ice cream, pineapple and cheese on sticks, chipolata sausages on sticks as well, jam sandwiches, crisps etc; and homemade a pin the tail on the donkey poster, wrapped the pass the parcel; blown up the balloons and got ready the folding chairs for the game of musical chairs. But the storms came - dark and ominous, strange and loud. The little kids were terrified by the birthday storm without their parents, and I had to distract them with my puppet show for longer and longer, building the crazy storm - including lightening strikes and crashes, rumbles and bangs - into the plot of the tale while my mother set everything up in the kitchen instead. We all have different snatches of flashback-snapshot memories of that bizarre birthday; but usually in storms my sister and I (and thereafter, my own kids and I) were usually to be found running barefoot outside - screaming with wild wonder like swifts on the wing.
  3. A deep golden egg-yolk sunset. Bubbling stream water at the end of my garden is still cool on the skin. As the light recedes, the heat of humidity is losing its stifling quality and as wisps of blushed cloud gather on the hill, the late sun-washed sky displays a full menu of sorbet colours, from mango to apricot to crushed berries of every hue.
  4. I remember the summer of ‘76. My little sister was born and my father left. My mother stayed at home and in the garden; with friends and family helping out. I remember roaming in the parks, gardens and green spaces that were slowly becoming arid and dusty. The ground was riddled full of cracks like bark on an old tree. It felt like Southern Europe (where my Dad finally ended up), and I started wishing for all my summers to be hot-lit like that for ever more.
  5. Basking in the Beltane sun this morning. Grass sparkling like jewels. Birds singing full throttle as the leaves and petals turn to the light and unfurl. The air is clean and cold, but the sun warms my back like the full heat of Winter’s hearth. Happy Beltane & May Day, one and all.
  6. In the Hope Valley tonight: A delightful flare-up of wild-fire skies at sunset: followed by a wide-eyed cloud-fuzzed gibbous moon; waxing and breaking clear: free to rise into deep stark skies. The air temperature plunges as it climbs, as if the day has been submerged into a night of gaseous cooled dark sea.
  7. Hit by two sudden and brief hail downfalls today. One while I was behind a bush attending to the call of nature! Eyes to the skies!
  8. “All the world’s a stage”... but Nature’s theatrics are played in the skies. Not all visitors to every show can fit into the best seats of the theatre at the same time. ...And sometimes we can only read the reviews and wait for the grand tour to come to us, if we cannot travel to the show ourselves. We either wait or seek: we all play our part chasing the big sky-fired show. Even our shared dead ducks have a use; although it’s not the same use as for live ones. Nature lives on. Storms will build, then die; but more will always come around. (So will the odd dead duck too). But, the doesn’t the theatrical thrill keep us waiting, seeking; sometimes knawingly hungry and sometimes joyously sated...
  9. So, it came fully and in abundance of heat and light: our beloved Sun. All is alight.
  10. ...but can you feel a stirring? The ennui is on the cusp of lifting.
  11. 2nd April 2018 06.35 The rain on tin stopped drumming, like an army resting on a march. The snow is here in the Hope Valley, falling in silence of itself and wet as waterfall spray. In defiance, the hedge and woodland birds are singing strong and the black crows are even flying up and over from branch to crag. Behind the cascade, and levelled in the rockbed flood-plain - the snow is an overpowering recurring, haunting memory: a flashback; a shadow; a dream; a ghost of what came before. But the blank white skies look empty and flat, but they are full, and natural and multidimensional. But, all I can do is watch and wait, touch and smile.
  12. 2nd April 2018 06.35 The rain on tin stopped drumming, like an army resting on a march. The snow is here in the Hope Valley, falling in silence of itself and wet as waterfall spray. In defiance, the hedge and woodland birds are singing strong and the black crows are even flying up and over from branch to crag. Behind the cascade, and levelled in the rockbed flood-plain - the snow is an overpowering recurring, haunting memory: a flashback; a shadow; a dream; a ghost of what came before. But the blank white skies look empty and flat, but they are full, and natural and multidimensional. But, all I can do is watch and wait, touch and smile.
  13. Waiting for the last snow is as restlessly intense as the bleak yearning for the first sun-warmth of Spring. The undeniable dissonance between the two cancelling one another out, like love and betrayal. It is like waiting for the one who got away to come knocking once again at the door of realisation, bringing Nature’s embrace to break the curse of lonesome sunlit mornings and evenings, and to bring the kiss that breaks the curse of waking alone in the first snow.
  14. Higgar Tor (and it’s leaning block, aka “The Rasp” rock route by Joe Brown E2 5b 1956). Spring Equinox 2018.
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