Acquiescence (5)

Somedays I feel like I have little to say. I was sad yesterday. I am still mourning the loss, the loss of making. No, not just that but of having somewhere to place, to direct what I make. I am glad what I had then has gone. It wouldn’t do, not now. But I have, as yet nothing to replace it with, and have not done for these 12 years. Not really. Oh, I’ve made work and done some things that have pleased and excited me, but not like before. It’s the beauty, the creation of something beautiful, exquisite. I miss that, terribly.

Old age brings a recognition of the power of acceptance, of acquiescence. Sometimes it is the only power we have, to say, if this must happen then I will willingly succumb to it, manage it, make the best of it, detach from it, watch it, observe what it brings and what it dispenses with. Help me to learn it, the fighting is to no good, it diminishes, not empowers. So be it. Make me yield, make me grace-ful.

They have chosen, I have my work cut out. Just back from work. He was an astro-photographer and a little chopsy, though, to be fair he’d been up all night watching and filming the meteor shower, so I must be compassionate. The sky looks blue, a light azure with traces of pink. A good day is promised, I think, though a little cold.

My poisoned finger throbs but it has reduced a little. Many things hurt, so be it. I will learn from the sensations and await the healing. He says he will call the hospital. He is impatient for news. So be it. All will take its time and all, in time, will out like the poison, eh?

First coffee in nine days. Good to smell it, though I feel a little bad I didn’t hold back another day. Some days one just needs the comfort of it. Yes?

By Ellen Bell

Artist and writer currently living in Aberystwyth.