But you don’t really care for music, do you? Well it goes like this: The fourth, the fifth, the minor fall and the major lift The baffled king composing Hallelujah
Hallelujah Hallelujah
lyrics by Leonard Cohen
But the version I can hear in my head as I walk in the woods with Fred is by Geof Buckley. I am whistling this a loud as I can, really loud. It is dusk and getting dark very quickly, but I am not fussed I know the tracks and paths. I don’t sing way too embarrassing cant even sing a hymn in church just not capable of it. But whistling I can do that just fine, and really letting rip, I don’t care if goes wrong cos no-one can hear. It feels quite good totally absorbing and nothing else filters into my mind except that song. I do whistle sometimes on these dog walks when totally alone. The songs often get lodged and remain and even if I try another tune I can’t shift it and inevitably it returns to the impregnated tune. I realise that these unalterably implanted songs often rise from the unconscious and when I allow myself to examine them they seem pertinent or relevant somehow!
Hallelujah is a celebration and an emotional rejoicing yet it’s so melancholy, exactly how I’m feeling, many reasons to be happy but somehow, I am empty and hollow inside. And I am enjoying exploring that feeling through the song. So much so that I forget where I am and its dark, really dark by now. I try another tune, but struggle to maintain any enthusiasm for it and it peters out quite soon. I realise I need to concentrate now because I can hardly see where I’m going.
The experience of walking in the woods in the dark is difficult to describe as I know I am moving through space yet my visual perception is quite shallow, almost flat quite an odd sensation.
Fred’s sight must be significantly different from mine. At dusk and really reduced light conditions he can gallop amongst the trees and bracken with total abandon. He does not do this in the dark but seems to be able to follow and discern a path very confidently. If he strays off I know he will find me, though I have no idea where he may be. I am reduced to pretty much using my feet as eyes as I gingerly move along using touch through the soles of my feet more than my eyes. I am reminded of that annoying question: If a tree falls over in a forest? Can something be there, even if we can’t see it. Fred can see and hear things I can’t. The advantage I have is I know path intersections, fallen trees and clearings are there as markers for me because I have been there many many times before. But I know Fred has never been along that track before.
