Seeing Dee

Today is November28th. At 13.41 hours tomorrow, one year ago, Delia's laboured breathing stopped for ever. I've had some beautiful messages this week. No surprise. I don't know and cannot define what is a 'special person' except by indirect allusion. That is, through the words and the eyes of those with whom she came into contact. Famous she was not; fame would have frightened her for she was a one on one person, even amongst a crowd of one on ones. But all the evidence is that Delia Mary was indeed that special person.

Whilst we can only live in the present we do so, for better or for worse, on the cushion of the past . This poem is published in today's Gairloch and District Times ...



Seeing Dee

I see her still, and will
so long as I have seeing eyes alive
to the hills we walked,
with those beloved dogs.
So many, many lovely days;
so many, many trackless ways.
The hills are winter muted now,
their lovely colours sombre
as if in respect or tribute
to she who, leaving me alone,
embarked on that adventure
that all that lives must know,
this harder, emptier year ago.

I see her still, and will
so long as I have seeing eyes alive
to the stony, bouldery shores
or riverside woods
where we would each day
in all weathers find a seat
to eat our picnic lunch
often in silence, content
to watch the play of light,
oft-times the drift of rain or snow
on hill or moving water, smile at
the play of otters, divers, others,
listening to the crying of the gulls.

I see her still, and will
so long as I have seeing eyes alive
to the crystal seas of Wester-Ross
cold, clear, summertime blue,
‘remote’, where she would
take off her clothes and, breathless,
slip nymph-like in to swim,
framed by deep, dark-waving weeds,
laughing at me, at the cold;
or for the simple joy of it,
lithe mermaid in a perfect zone,
the one, forever gone
that we had made our own.

Bryan Islip
(for Delia, 04.12.1944 - 29.11.2013)

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