I'm sitting in a sunny place, in my car. I'm in an almost empty car park sharing only with two other cars. It's quiet. I feel so lucky. I picked a parking spot with a magnificent view across a park and down a valley. The air has turned early Autumnal and leaves are just beginning to take a bow and crisp up but there is a promise of warmth outside even if only for a short time. It's a beautiful time of year. A time when nature shows us how to give the gathered audience its magnificent finale. That surrendering a little and going quiet is not only needed and helpful but very, very natural. I am writing this down so that in the depths of my lost months (usually January/February time for me) I might re visit this and try to remember that there are other times.
My car window is open and the only voice I can hear is of a man. He is talking and coaching young men in the art of goalkeeping. My son is among them. And I feel lucky. This man is there every week come hail, rain, shine, wind, sleet, frost, even a little snow provided we can still see the ball. He doesn't need to do this. I doubt it's for financial reasons since we pay him enough only to buy matches for gas lamps. Perhaps it's for the love of the game. Perhaps he needs this too. It's not my business to know but I wish him to know that he saves me a little each time I'm here.
Watching him lead with enthusiasm, dignity and manners, hearing him lead with encouragement and inspiration and seeing the face of my son as he finishes the session with self-respect and a smile, all serves as hard evidence that the world is good. The world turns as it should, day follows night, good things and bad things arrive and leave as they will and that if we just keep returning to the path and keep eyes front, we can do it. We are doing it. Credit where it's due.
Score time. Let's see what we have today.
The room above the garage
A Moodscope member.