memory tin.

full of people & places

In the cupboard under the stairs, in the sewing drawer.

In the cupboard under the stairs, in the sewing drawer.

things that nourished me today:

planting trees.

building a tiny rock wall.

hugging an old friend.

reading an email from Jenny. laughing. crying.

being laughed at by Soph and knowing that that means I’m loved.

listening to Into the Deep, and knowing that’s where I want to go.

roast vege salad. thank you God for feta cheese.

a pile of summer fruit.

Redeemer.

cleaning glass jars.

knowing that waiting for the start of a new season is a good thing.

“Even a proverb is no proverb to you until your life has illustrated it”

– Keats

Someone once described a book as being like a door. In a great library I imagine all these little doors, lined up, stacked up, piled up, row upon row. Each one each there own small self-contained world, window panes burning bright. 

I saw Eilidh Mundoon’s illustration in the Edinburgh Central Library, where the note above the door boldly proclaims ‘Let there be light’. How wonderful.

In the streets of Edinburgh, where the windows run-up tall and the doors stand nearly side-by-side, a neat disorder is at work. Each little doorway leading off into other rooms, perhaps hundreds, perhaps one. To me the rows of doors alonge the street front are quite akin to the rows of books in the library. Each a new space to enter, a new light to be ignited.

I could blither on a great deal more - the Word, the power of knowledge and education, church, opportunity, self-expression, the very notion of the public being peoples who are worthy of being able to think their own thoughts. As these thoughts chase each other around my head, I am grateful for words; for the space to realise ourselves through them, and to the lack of judgement with which public libraries and books treat their readers. May Eilidh’s lovely illustrations speak to the beauty and vision of this little city which valued the light in all peoples, and whose culture and architecture so neatly reflect it.

Someone once described a book as being like a door. In a great library I imagine all these little doors, lined up, stacked up, piled up, row upon row. Each one each there own small self-contained world, window panes burning bright. 

I saw Eilidh Mundoon’s illustration in the Edinburgh Central Library, where the note above the door boldly proclaims ‘Let there be light’. How wonderful.

In the streets of Edinburgh, where the windows run-up tall and the doors stand nearly side-by-side, a neat disorder is at work. Each little doorway leading off into other rooms, perhaps hundreds, perhaps one. To me the rows of doors alonge the street front are quite akin to the rows of books in the library. Each a new space to enter, a new light to be ignited.

I could blither on a great deal more - the Word, the power of knowledge and education, church, opportunity, self-expression, the very notion of the public being peoples who are worthy of being able to think their own thoughts. As these thoughts chase each other around my head, I am grateful for words; for the space to realise ourselves through them, and to the lack of judgement with which public libraries and books treat their readers. May Eilidh’s lovely illustrations speak to the beauty and vision of this little city which valued the light in all peoples, and whose culture and architecture so neatly reflect it.