suppose I have inherited a desire to write from my father and his sister, my
aunt. My aunt was awell known historian who wrote a number of
books. In 1984 she wrote her memeoirs for publishing, but the publisher
lost a chapter and at 84 she lost heart. It was not until the archivist
at Girton College, Cambridge that it was possible to publish her autobiography
which I edited plus writing the epilogue & editorial notes. Before
this I tried my hand at writing poetry,but nothing published.
As I look out of the window I am
struck by the sunset on the sea. The
sea is calm and the sun is reflected off the water. As I watch there appears a roadway of light
leading to – where? The future, the
past, or maybe this is the roadway to infinity; life beyond this?
I listen to the surf on the
shore, thus lulling my mind to peaceful contemplation. What is? What will be? A time to die
As the sun goes down and darkness
covers the sea I ask, is this the time for me? Immortality; but nevertheless a comfort of faith, hope and peace. I smile at my contentment