The Day of Saints - Day 9, Just

'I sink down into the soft mattress, between the cotton sheets,

and sleep the sleep of the just. The sleep of a monk.'

(Walking Away, Simon Armitage, 203)

The Milky Way and passing cloud lit by the end of the day's sun.

What Eye Has Not Seen...

Some cameras are able to record things our eyes cannot ordinarily see. Dark skies away from the city make for amazing viewing when the night is clear, and the benefit of not sleeping well on my first night on the ground (with a bag and small mattress) was that I got to look up at the stars and reflect a little.

I have rarely tried 'astro-photography', it's not really my thing, but having set up my camera for a long-exposure I took a few shots towards the Milky Way. Back in the tent, post-midnight, the dark and chilly experience got me thinking and something took shape. St Just himself isn't on my list, but he's sneaked in here under cover of darkness!

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SAINTS, JUST

Motionless, only just still,

sleep-robbed in a sleeping bag,

cocooned, a drowsing chrysalis,

facing the sky but eyes sealed shut.

Inside, awake, staring ahead -

the picture is there - the galactic core,

spectral dots banded by a nomad cloud

all smeared in gold by the last embers of the sun.

The hidden calling of an owl, and gusting whistle of wind,

The flapping of trees, and odd splatter of rain,

The washing of sea breaking on distant rocks;

Ignored by my canvas, they belong to you.

I quipped to a vicar, today,

"No saints photographed yet! (at least not canonised ones)"

We shared that serious joke, with tea and cake,

- a good crack opens us to ourselves.

We must not shrink forever, but peer outside

And there, though dark test our claim to see,

Squintingly and faint, perhaps, that embryonic lifelight within -

For we are saints, (and so much more than just).

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