Post-Fall Beauty

It's autumn. S thinks I don't notice the beauty in nature. But, in this urban landscape, I do see the changing seasons. This week, with clement weather, I observe the deep blue sky, the yellowing trees set against  its azure backdrop. And, beneath our feet, glistening, shiny, with dew, the wet, wet, brown and browning, leaves. Squelchy, and slippery: a highly unstable foundation for our feet. But beauty, albeit in its slightly forlorn, keening, state.

Similar is the music playing in our house. Dougie MacLean; melancholic, Scottish, folk. Touching, especially Sue's heart. We went through a phase of listening to his music: a hero, a champion, of independence, a romantic figure set against history. And then we actually saw him perform. And he seemed a small, petulent, resentful, angry, man. And, swearing. Wholly unnecessary. The image was broken. Admittedly, it was an open-air festival, where people, on this sunny day, were lying back, wanting to be entertained by lively pop music, instead of this counter-cultural, political, radical, personage - out of tune with his setting; perhaps this explains his irritation?

Likewise, listening to the music of Bill Mallonnee and the Vigilantes of Love. Around the same time, we got into them, and actually saw them several times. A wordsmith: poetic and prophetic. A superb command of lyrics and imagery. And, then, a fall. As he left his wife, for a much younger woman. From singing of faith, and an erudite theology, he is now still singing in the small venues. But the hard-won faith, against the backdrop of his depression, this is long gone, though still plaintively expressed in a series of gigs at churches, catholic and orthodox in mid-west America. Now playing to them a version of roots americana: perhaps with a nostalgic, religious , spiritual, reverie; but not the hard-edged truth of previous years. So, beauty; but always tinged with sadness, the mark of the fall.