麻豆约拍

Good Morning.

听

I鈥檝e had a poem in my head for the past few days.听 We鈥檙e clearing out our old family home, and I keep remembering how important the sounds of a house are.听 The poem鈥檚 by Robert Louis Stevenson, and this snatch has been floating through my memory:

听

My house, I say. But hark to the sunny doves听听听

That make my roof the arena of their loves,听听听

..... And fill the chimneys with their murmurous song:听听听

Our house, they say;

听

When we first arrived as children in this old stone house in the countryside, my sister and I shared an attic room.听 I remember how different everything sounded from the town street we鈥檇 come from.听 The baby starlings skittered and twittered under the eaves. When someone ran a bath, the water pipes thumped and throbbed. At night, in winter, the wind battered and howled around the old roof, and I remember snuggling under the bedclothes, feeling safe from the storm.

听

There was the particular squeaky click when we opened the little cupboard door of our bedside tables.听 听My sister and I kept our treasures there: comics, books, letters, chocolate. 听And each day, the clacking of my father鈥檚 manual typewriter rang through the glass door of his study.

听

The weekend when my sister and I worked our way through the rooms of the house, clearing and sorting, that soundscape played in our heads. 听We鈥檒l carry it with us, long after the house is filled with new voices and stories.

听

God, we thank you this morning, that we can carry with us the sounds and sights of our past, and for the comfort they can bring.听 Amen.