Story telling from Australia
On this overcast day in London, when Piccadilly was crammed with people hurrying to get somewhere—pushing prams, pulling suitcases, dragging recalcitrant children behind them—I took a five-minute detour through Green Park. What a difference. Suddenly I was walking on grass instead of concrete, passing empty deck chairs and mature trees. The traffic and noise of Piccadilly was still there, in places only a few metres away behind the hedge, yet I was in a park of quiet beauty and simple grace. Solace.
It’s so easy to get dragged along by a tide of people heading in one direction, trudging along a concrete pavement.
And on this rainy day I have a confession to make. This week I started ‘liking’ other blogs. It was a cynical ploy to get more people to like mine, but the blogs I liked were so compelling I started reading them. And the joke was on me because I discovered what an extraordinary community of people this is, all willing to share their thoughts, hopes and fears. I’m drawn towards the happy blogs, the ones that remind me to be thankful for what I’ve got. To count my blessings.
So I thank all those brave people who shared their stories and opened their hearts. Our hopes and fears are not that different, whoever we are and wherever we live.
And as George Eliot said, ‘What do we live for, if not to make life less difficult for each other?’
I look forward to reading more.