|Your own personal Jesus.|
|Other things can rise up at will, a seasonal effect so I believe.|
I was at one today out in the East Neuk, wonderfully mad sunlit weather, rolling clouds and white seas in a craggy church clinging for dear life to the water's edge. Beside it a battered graveyard, windswept and white with salt, back on a low cliff top overlooking the great mother sea, licking at the graves as if to beg for a taste. I heard all about the life lived, it was uplifting and interesting, he sounded like a nice chap, a square peg in a square hole, loved and liked he'd explored and fathered and befriended. Then a cancer and the fatigue of living beyond allotted years caught up. I didn't know him at all it seemed, others clearly did. I wished I'd known him better and as the old hymns rattled unsung around the kirk interior I was sad for myself that I'd missed some slim chance somewhere along the way.
So that's life, death and families. In the end we all run out of time and patience and fail to make that tiny bit of effort. One thing we all have in common 100% of the time. Then it's time to put that polished wooden box into the damp ground, say a few words and turn and walk away. Awkward chat suddenly turns lighter, people shake hands, hug or kiss, speak quietly, someone smiles, our steps increase, up the hill, away from the place where the dead live as their disturbed ground now closes in again. We go to a busy hotel were chairs are hurriedly moved into positions. We arrange ourselves in groups and drink whisky and eat heavenly roast beef in a last supper (apart from the vegetarians who receive a hurried portion of hot mushroom risotto). Then bumper to bumper on the A92.