Bob Ward
Listening In
In all but the worst of weathers, my partner and I take a daily walk both for the exercise and to keep tuned into our natural surroundings. One place that we visit regularly is a woodland that serves as a country park. It is crossed by a myriad of tracks that lead one past ponds, a children’s playground, and pieces of outdoor sculpture, notably a lifelike buzzard. There is also an open-sided marquee for fresh air events.
Revisiting the woods following serious gales, we found that the fabric covering for the marquee had been ripped off. It now lay in a scrambled heap to one side, and the area was cordoned for safety’s sake by a long loop of red and white tape.
A steady breeze billowed the tape into a gracious crescent. As it did so, the tape vibrated, making a low burring sound.
We passed on, eventually taking a path along the far side of the wood that we don’t often reach. There we came across a new feature: a rustic memorial bench faced a board that carried a poem of remembrance, of which the opening words were:
‘I heard your voice in the wind today…’
It was a moving elegy, but neither the author nor the person remembered were named. The effect of that omission is that the poem comes to speak for anyone mourning a loved one. Having just lost my younger brother, it certainly spoke for me. AQ