Transcience

This is one of the fastest ever painting of a flower I have ever done. I did not take any more than ten minutes to produce this one.

These last two days since getting home I have been working in my garden both front parts and the back of the house. I have many bushes and high plants that had gone riotous during my absence and of course, the weeds had been given a field day to multiply all over the place.

Having managed to get it all to my liking I then spent a fair bit of time helping get the village cleared up and ready for the up and coming judging of its flowers and landscape.

So for two days, my whole attention has been on flowers and bushes but never having time to see them for the beauty that they are just trying to get them to a manageable and aesthetic state.

This little wildflower is in one of the beds I cleared up yesterday. A thing of beauty that will be fleeting in its existence. So the painting I hope catches not what it is but what it has been and will be.

While working in both the garden and the village people spoke to me appreciating what was being done. One person even brought me a bottle of cold flavoured water from her fridge.

As I spoke to them once again I became aware of my voice. The thought went across my mind that the people in this village have never heard the voice that lives inside my head. They hear my voice as it is, gravelly and with much less timbre than it once had. 

The years have taken their toll. I once had a voice that sounded good on radio as I broadcast my weekly meditation. I was able to fill it with feeling and mood. I was able to sing and converse without a thought.

Like so many things in my life, I overused and abused what I had. Came the day when it just refused to preach six times on a Sunday to large gatherings of people with no microphone. It refused to sign with gusto, in fact, it just refused to work. In spite of three operations, it was like the flower above gone and there no more. 

I will never forget the day I was told I would probably never speak again. I rejoice that after months of practice I can once again speak without the use of vocal chords making use of air control. I find moments when I forget what it sounds like and still hear the old voice.  I find large groups of people and noise very difficult where in the past I loved such gatherings. 

This morning as I sit and write I am wondering how my readers hear my voice because many who do will hear the voice of today. Some will hear the voice of years ago and others will never have heard my voice at all.

Why am I saying all of this?  Today as every bone in my body aches I am aware that I have never in my life learned to fully appreciate the gifts and talents I have and to cherish and nurture them with care.  Some, like the playing and writing of music and song I have left behind.  The art of holding an audience through the timbre of voice I have killed. 

My friends, cherish the talents, some would say gifts, hold on to them as precious and rejoice in them. They can be like my flower beautiful but transitory if they are not held precious. 

Have a marvellous day. I have a very thorny hedge around the village telephone box to trim and spruce up today.