I have had one of those pleasant periods, one of those ‘spots in time‘ that define an enjoyable life. It started when a Times writer wrote about the joy of a long marriage. One of those joys was sleeping with a warm partner. The alternative, sleeping alone, he found quite miserable. I have had that warm skin pleasure for 55 years and it never lessens. Then, Ann and I watched an onscreen opera at Tideswell cinema. Firstly, it was a big screen and great sound system. Secondly, as Brunnhilde was awakened by Siegfried’s kiss, the joyous music nearly had me in meltdown. Two days later, we ran over Stanage Edge, surely part of paradise? I wanted to pass the rumoured stone circle but we failed. Fleeting life was not a concern amongst the bleached heather.

Stanage Pole

The moorland was wild and our feet very wet. We climbed onto the northern part of the moor and worked south and east. Finally, across to Stanage Pole and a chat with two women. One said, as we approached, “that looks impressive”. A chat about Sheffield and our history with that city followed. The four of us stood, at that height, glorying in the experience. The sun shone, nobody else was around and meadow pipits twittered. Finally, we headed back to the car park, the lure of cheese on toast for lunch. It was one of those days you don’t want to end.

Fleeting Life

There is a problem with reflection. The ecstasies, I can call them no less, are one side of a coin. The flipside is perhaps darker, the jeopardy around life. That comes to me lying in bed, wrapped around that warm body. It must end but we know not when, or where. However, being wrapped in this way I could not miss seeing all my telltale wrinkles. Fortunately, being a gardener gives me many useful reminders about how to appreciate the value of life. The one that always comes to mind is, ‘don’t forget to smell the roses.