Cwtch* is a Welsh word with no English language equivalent. It is the place in the crook of the arm where a child is held from infancy onward…young babies and infants are held by their mothers using a woolen shawl wrapped in the “Welsh way” which allows both arms to be free. The child is held next to the mothers heart and listens to the mothers voice and much else beside. The cwtch is a place of reassurance and comfort — and love.
On 9th March 2020, I suffered heart failure. With a heart rate of 257, I was rushed by ambulance to the Accident and Emergency of the local hospital which luckily for me had not been closed by the machinations of the Health Board bureaucracy.
…
My life was saved. Within four days I had two heart operations and a pacemaker defibrillator installed in a kind of skin flap on my chest linked by wires to my heart. Following the operations on the fifth day following admission I was discharged to home and six months of shielding to look forward to. Followed by a lockdown, a short period of what people called “normality”, followed by another lockdown and before we knew it we were into 2021. The time we found ourselves in could definitely not be described as “normality”.
In the isolation framed by shielding and lockdown I wrote.
I completed poetry which has been well received and prolifically published in the US. I re-edited my first novel and made good headway on my second.
…
I gardened as best I could…I cooked meals. And walked the hills around my home accompanied with my faithful sheepdog Meg. But most days I spent alone with my wife returning from her teaching in the evening.
…
I also wrote in Journals and notebooks. The following fragments are excerpts taken from my Journals.
It also contains observations, thoughts and early workings and excerpts of poems. These are just a few beginnings.
Learning perspective can be a hard thing it doesn’t exist in reality just a formula taught to see one of many ways of seeing another dry construct ironing out invalidating other understandings
Dense woodland surrounding young trees planted on shale waste some days walking through it feels to me as if I’m submerged in a sea of constant green movement
Trees resist being seen with perspective an endless formula of straightened lines I remember being taught to see the world in that way ironing out invalidating so many other ways of seeing others understandings
I like to stand and listen eyes closed for long periods the unending sounds of woodland around me a world of so many lines the wind lifts heavy rainfalls spindle thin ash tops clash lean in on one another
Hi! my name is Sebastian (You can call me Seb!) ...welcome to my Blog. I'm a photographer from Worcester, Worcestershire, England. Thanks for dropping by! I hope you enjoy my work.
