Our mailboxes are full of supermarket offers.
Our correspondence consists mainly of advertising and banking mail.
Personal letters, friends and family letters are scarce.
The receipt of a postal card, a greeting from the distance, has made me aware that letters establish personal ties that break time and geographical barriers.
It seems that the personal letter is relegated to the big events, but these are not frequent.
Thus, we are losing the habit of writing.
It seems that the frantic pace of modern life, the culture of the immediacy, the frivolousness and impersonality of the bulk of information, has confused us on the scale of values.
Perhaps we do not duly appreciate the value of small events, which constitutes the structure of everyday life, and therefore the possible content of a family letter.
Letters turn into historical memory.
With the passage of time, it will always be a treasure and a company, even in solitude.
They are shared memories, knowing that we are active members of a family or that we feel closely linked to a group of friends near or far away – even if it is through the slight tie of a sheet of paper.
Sung with great feeling
They assembled at the heart of the Headland,
In a church sitting high on the hill.
Whose doors were wide open in welcome,
A wondrous sanctuary for choristers to fill.
They came from the lands between rivers,
Filling lungs with the rich North Sea air.
Enhancing it with timbre and passion,
Then expelling in a melodious affair.
They sang the songs the audience loved,
In the way they wanted them sung.
While the ethereal acoustics within the church,
Smoothed the way for pearls off the tongue.
Michael Anglo painted the inside church,
And the choir forced the sound out.
Bring Him Home was sung with great feeling,
And the Lord’s Prayer.
The flowing tide crept near to the church,
And listened to the voices of the north.
Then reluctantly it slowly ebbed away,
Overcome with grief and a swell of remorse.