Can you hear them? No, as usual, you can’t hear them. We can hear them. Hear them still, even out here on the other side of the world. Perhaps not as loud, perhaps not as obvious, but they are still there. Come out, come out and play, come out come out and find us…we promise, as we always promise, that no one will miss you, no one will even know you are gone.
Come to the bottom of the garden.
Come to the music.
Come to the wild.
We will look after you.
We will always look after you.
Come home. Come away. Come back to us.
Our ears feel like they have been stuck full of cotton wool and yet at the same time everything seems too loud. Things don’t make sense, life seems disjointed. All hard edges and cutting lines. And around us, the world flows on, with it’s grinning pumpkins and cute cat ears and comically jangling skeletons; how many of you may realise that that comical dance is a ghastly reinterpretation of what was once a different kind of dance on air? A jig done at the end of a rope? No, you do not see, you do not hear, you do not remember.
We envy you. Those of you who walk through the world swaddled in that type of unawareness.
You’re still looking at me like I’m crazy. I’m not crazy. I just have my eyes open, and my ears.
And I can hear them.
And perhaps this year…perhaps this year it’s time to go with them.