A Madeira loaf
Calmly cooling on a rack
Inviting patience

The world under the paving slabs may seem a world away but on my way to church, I saw a half completed excavation and I imagined the unearthing of some past settlement, maybe the discovery of a long buried society holding centuries of secrets of living with more dependence on the earth and less addiction to man crafted pleasures which would die the day we lost power.

I blinked and found myself shovel in hand, ankle deep in dirt and feverishly sinking the curved blade into the yellow and black clay, desperate to find a remnant of simpler times when a living was within most men's grasp at the cost of blisters and back strain, when digging was manual labour and a honest days work was done with at the end of the day and the unfinished work was left for the morning and not taken anywhere near home, where there was something near a worklife balance and neighbours were family and family were neighbours for better or for worse and, more often than not, worse, where budgets were tightened and a new hole was punched into your belt, with your hand me downs held to be your right not your punishment and if you didn't finish your plate you must be ailing or maybe angling for a day off school, where you queued for warm milk or for the tuck shop at playtime if you had thruppence to share with your sister before you ran a game of bulldog or kiss chase depending on your anxiety level, quick before the bell and queue again to sit in your allocated place based on your end of year exam result which always resulted in relegation to the back row bad influencer and never next to the girl who's cheek you had just missed, but you see her face reflected in the TV that got wheeled in for BBC Schools while the old guy dared you to show any suggestion of individual thought and secretly hoped you gave him cause to wield his size 14 plimsoll.

So I turn the edge of the shovel and refill the hole, I re intur what was good and buried, I intern the past where it belongs, returning to ground level where my spirit bubble bobbles for a moment while I find my balance knowing this is where I am what I've become - with my past giving me foundation not non-negotiable identification, and a reason to build not to burrow.

And so I turn round the corner into tomorrow to find what's next, acknowledging my debts and grateful for all that made me me - no regrets.

The truth is
they're all sacred.
Each possibility.
Every choice.
All these paths - those trodden
and not trodden, yet to be chosen.
They're all sacred.
Because they're all created.
They're weighted
with glorious purpose.
His purpose.
On purpose.
No mistakes.

The tap on the door.
The roll off the bed,
The fall of the loose pages
which would just have to wait.
And the walk, double time,
through the dark, to the light
at the end of the corridor.

The weight of the receiver.
The cool of hard plastic.
And, before the first word,
that intake of breath,
as her face comes into focus.

I relax and close the door,
smiling into the thrill of her voice.

I sat by the fountain,
watching the sun play out
the last moments of summer
in the company of young and old,
each of us attracted to its laughter.

And a voice spoke out
of a corner of this retreated peace

"It's the end of something.
At least the start
of something ending.
It's the end of many things
that you've grown accustomed to,
that have grown around you
and within you - rooted.
And so you may wonder -
- will the roots simply die from neglect?
(Has that dying already begun
from past neglect? Discuss.)
Or will you have to find the will
to uproot them?
- will the pain be worth the excavation?
- will the freeing of them better free you?
Or will you one day be grateful
for the remains of what was?

"So, for now, carry the remains.
Carry the scars and the stains.
Walk with confidence through this ending."

I listened to the voice in the quiet.
And sat with the fountain a while longer.
Knowing I'll find the decision sooner
or later. For tomorrow, it was September.

Be an activist.
Pray in a loud active voice,
to an active God.

Each light fades to darkness
Every yes becomes a no
The start will end in a finish
Each open leads to a close

Deep love drains to shallow
The entrance finds an escape
The song fades to silence
The healing turns to ache

So exit before they eject you
Walk away before they split
Don’t wait for warmth to get frosty
Stop before they quit

You’re better off without them
You know how it will end
So why go through the heartache
You’ve never needed friends