Two years ago to the day, the world changed.
Two years ago to the day, the world changed. This morning an interview on the radio with the mayor of Kyiv brought into focus how fortunate we are. For us, the citizens of this island idyll, horror has not become the norm. Like that day two years ago, the journey into work this morning was surprisingly similar and so I sought out that newsletter we sent out that day – here it is again, in a slightly edited form – it’s as poignant now as it was then, and perhaps always will be … if we stand for nothing, we’ll fall for anything.
– xXx –
The two colours, one sat atop the other, like un-mixed liquids in a jar. The endless blue of the sky reaching to the stars beyond an early morning moon, as it casts half a disparaging eye down on a world it tries to help. Below, the pastoral greens of the old WWI airbase and the trees beyond, the gentle hues belying the original purpose of this Oxfordshire field. These two colours, simple and bold, apart and yet together, much like the colours of a flag, each an equal component of the early morning beauty.
As the year goes through its cycle of seasons, the lush green of many of the fields around here, with the help of the sun in that endless blue sky, will change as the crops mature to a beautiful golden yellow. Those two colours, simple and bold, apart and yet together, much like the colours of a flag, each an equal component of an image we will come to associate with fortitude and resilience.
Now, as then, it doesn’t feel right to include the links to new books in this Newsletter this week – there are plenty at the shop and on the website (and the Newsletter next week will be a bumper edition with Amber’s and Sophie’s suggestions as usual). Our thoughts remain with those fellow Europeans, just three hours from here, seeking solace and comfort not from the pages of a book, but in the cellars and tunnels beneath their homes and cities, trying to seek out a normality amongst the horrors of war and the ego of monsters – what madness that moon looks down on.
When frustration turns to anger, turn to Dylan Thomas – ‘Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night’
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieve it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
The full newsletter can be found HERE
