My Facebook feed has lately included several ads for Tai Chi walking for people of a "certain age," and one of the phrases they keep repeating is that I'll be unrecognizable by next month. As if I have a need to go incognito or something.
Do you think if it really works, I could slip out the back door and make a run for it without anyone noticing?
The wind woke me at three a.m.,
squeezing the house until its joints creaked,
stripping the yard of last year's leaves, scraping it clean.
I wanted to run out into it, stand with face upturned and arms out,
to let its buffeting scour me too, blast away my melancholy, anxiety,
to remind me how puny the world's worries are, compared to its glorious might.
I yearned for the wind to strip away all but hope, leave me fresh and clean, empowered.
But it was dark and cold, and everyone else slept, so I retreated
back under the blanket, curled, clenched like a fist,
and just listened to its roar.
On the weekend, I performed with the Welsh choir I joined, as guests of the Burlington Welsh Male Chorus. It was held in a beautiful United Church with amazing stained glass windows. We took turns singing (shuffling on and off the stage), and did three songs with both choirs together.
It's a wonderful thing to sing with the men, those wonderful Welsh tenors, plus the sternum-shaking organ and the multi-coloured light streaming in the windows. So satisfying to be able to use the language again and to sing the Welsh national anthem at full volume with other people.
I'd been practising diligently since Christmas to get ready, since we have to sing "off book" (no sheet music to cheat from). I'm pleased to say I remembered everything, it all went well, and we got a standing ovation at the end.
Tonight is our next practice, and I have 8 new songs to learn, in addition to a handful of familiar warm-ups. Whee! This choir will be a test of my memory skills, I see.
