Summer?

I miss Summer: it should be sunny and warm, but it rains and the central heating has to come on most days.
 
See? How English I have become: I am talking about the weather. But then may be someone would like to know what the weather is like here? Well, ok, may be not.  May be it's an easy way to get back into communication with you. 
  
On Friday night I went to hear Hugh Masekela in concert at Symphony Hall, here in Birmingham. He is a bit older than the last time I saw him, which was in Zimbabwe - 1988, I think. With him were the 21 piece big band Jazz Jamaica All Stars. In spite of some quite casual mixing, the sound was very big, the performers generous, and the audience just the right mix, quite typical of Birmingham's mutli-cultural tradition.
Looking at the small man on the stage, I was trying to fathom the kind of extraordinary life map which can lead  one from Soweto townships to prestigious venues of the world. What struggles, what efforts, what dedication to music and what self belief. I am sorry I missed his desert island discs choices on radio 4.
The exhilaration of hearing live music never wanes for me. The only drawback  is : I want to be on the stage with them and sing or dance or something, if even clapping hands...but so far, and thank goodness too- I have always managed to rein in that impulse.
 
A landscape has slowly been emerging from my mind, but I am not sure if you will like it as it starts a bit more somber than my usual images:
 
Dark, deep waters, running fast in the middle, green , and white with foam here and there. The fury of the elements is implicit in the relentless flow. The sound echoes as loud as motorway traffic, rendered even louder by steep mountains at both sides, with frothy cascades feeding the stream with more water. The tops of the mountains are lost in mist. We are in the middle of the stream on a fast and sharp edged wooden small craft. Whoever is steering has the confidence of a God. In the midst of all the awe, he laughs and jokes and wields a precarious looking oar with the dexterity and the poise of a Geisha eating rice with chop sticks. Familiarity  is giving him the faith to navigate the rapids. And up, ...and down,... and fast to starboard and ...over the big wave we go, holding on for dear life, while he, as if  glued to the bottom of his ship, stands steadier than the rocks that shake our craft...
(Thus it is  that we do at times trust one who knows better, all ego gone, back to the oblivious faith of very young childhood. The only input that is needed form us then is a calm mind and good wishes for the one taking responsibility for our safety and wellbeing).
After the storm of the white water, the lull  comes, and the mist  lifts, revealing once more the majesty of the summits and the brilliance of the sun. Then we jump into these warm waters and splash about with not a care in the world. Drying out on a little sandbank, I'm sure someone will even bring in a big salady lunch with some of the  best crisps and a mug of chai tea...some toast?

......................the end.....................

I haven't had my breakfast yet, you see!
 
Ideas have bubbled up while I have been blog-idle, so I'll be attempting to order them as time goes on. But for now, breakfast does beckon, irresistible.
 
Many good thoughts for any who managed to read thus far!
 
Jocelyne