WATERS OF MARCH – The Vampire's Wife

I have been listening to this extraordinary and much loved song from Brazil a lot lately. The beautiful, warm performance by Lis Regina and Tom Jobin of Águas de Março or Waters of March moves the heart. It is such a deep, strange happy/sad song about the passing of life, of time, perhaps. It was sent in to my husband’s Red Hand Files but there has been such a volume of mail lately he has lost the sender’s name. We apologise for this but thank whoever sent it very much. Instant happiness. Love Susie. x

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wBEesrdaRog

A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road

It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone

It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun

It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun

The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush

A knot in the wood, the song of a thrush

The wood of the wind, a cliff, a fall

A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all

It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope

It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope

And the river bank talks of the waters of March

It's the end of the strain, it's the joy in your heart

The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone

The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone

A fish, a flash, a silvery glow

A fight, a bet, the flange of a bow

The bed of the well, the end of the line

The dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find

A spear, a spike, a point, a nail

A drip, a drop, the end of the tale

A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light

The sound of a gun in the dead of the night

A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,

It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps

The plan of the house, the body in bed

And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud

A float, a drift, a flight, a wing

A hank, a quail, the promise of spring

And the river bank talks of the waters of March

It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart

A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe

It's a thorn on your hand and a cut in your toe

A point, a grain, a bee, a bite

A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night

A pin, a needle, a sting, a pain

A snail, a riddle, a wasp or a stain

A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule

In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue

And the river bank talks of the waters of March

It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart

A stick, a stone, the end of the road

The rest of a stump, a lonesome road

A sliver of glass, a life, the sun

A knife, a death, the end of the run

And the river bank talks of the waters of March

It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart

Songwriter – Antonio Carlos Jobim

IN PRAISE OF MARILYNNE ROBINSON

I haven’t heard a sensible word from my husband all week as he finally gets around to reading Marilynne Robinson’s new book, Reading Genesis. ‘Oh God, you’ve got to read this, babe!’ he keeps saying. ‘Wow, you’ve got to read this!’ Meanwhile, I’m deep inside A Year in the Life of Wendy Whiteley by Ashleigh Wilson, which is having much the same effect. I’ve had a lovely time in Sydney, reading and swimming in the McIver’s Ladies Baths, Australia’s only rock pool dedicated to women and children. There is nothing quite as exhilarating as swimming in the rain, except perhaps watching Nick perform in the evenings at the State Theatre. Beautiful.

THE EXTRAORDINARY WENDY WHITELEY

My husband and I spent a lovely afternoon at Wendy Whiteley’s house, overlooking her amazing ‘secret garden’ in Lavender Bay in Sydney. Wendy and her husband, the renowned artist Brett Whiteley, set up their family home there in 1970 where they lived together for two decades. Brett painted many of his iconic Sydney Harbour pictures in the house. Brett was a defining influence on Nick as a young art student and musician living in Australia. It was a perfect day spent with an absolutely fascinating and powerful woman.

AH, MY DEAR ANGRY LORD

I love this terse little poem by the English poet, orator, and priest, George Herbert about the contradictory nature of religious belief, its good and bad sides, and its joy and sorrow. There's nothing like a bit of hard religion on a Sunday morning!!