From Worzel- I miss him the most at New Year, though we rarely saw Godfrey over the deep of winter, the holiday was significant for us both, and we shared combined Welsh/ Canadian traditions, oft hemispheres apart.
The earthquake occurred that last turning of the year he spent with us. Strong enough to jolt my turquoise chair, Godfrey nicked his hand when his lemonade went flying. My husband Garnet, came out to gripe at us over the thudding, only to get “The Vapors”, my stalwart cowboy could not stand blood. There was screaming in the hall, Mrs Feerce, our land lady, also panicking, twisted her ankle in the hole at top of the stairs. Even Mr Ghostly, who never left his room opened the door a crack, elderly Miss Pettigrew’s cat fled up the landing and out the transom window, the one that could not be closed, to return three weeks later.
Noted Godfrey, after cocoa was made, biscuits consumed by all, and the bug chandelier ceased swaying, “My goodness, we forgot the funny hats and to pull the paper crackers”…
Early New Years Day, when the celebrating wound down, I slid on my own, cross the frosty grass, edge of town. Bag of oat groats in my hand, the geese and ducks soon gather round. The Mute Swan is last, waits for the special, mixed feed I’ve brought her. Dignified as is the brand new dawn, she glides in over the water.
Cold was our turning of this year, night bitter and clear. Earth chose to shake the frost from her blankets, it rained ancient bugs from the old chandelier. Tipped over my lemonade, when the aged building swayed. Swayed to did Worzel, but I leaned out and caught her. When all was calm we worried not, stood together linked arms us three, quiet looking out over the water.
Over the water the Mangrove grove grew, over my head at night bats flapped and flew. Along the lake trail, we portaged the canoe. Vanquish worry for failure, let go fear of future, let go, head out over calm water.
Oh the decks are slippery, her old rust spots flaking, face to the swells she rides, rolling and shaking. tea cups clinked where they hung in the galley below, in my dreams, over the water, the good ship Arahura and I will soon go.
I have woke snug and warm, on many a chill morn, woke to the sound of the foghorn. Calling out to all wayward and lonely at sea, I dislike beets, as well you all know, and tussle with words like “Redundant” and “Technology”. ” I tussle with words, but like the foghorn, am heading out over the water”. So I bid Happy New Year to all, wherever you be, Blessings for New Year, blessings from Godfrey.