This week Michael is asking you to weave a tale dealing with the concept of climbing to the top.
I’ve never been particularly ambitious, neither have I been one for sports, so career or mountaineering are not my forte.
As a kid, I was not one for climbing trees, though I did put a hole in my new trousers by sliding down the banks of Corfe Castle on my backside. Those were the days when more of it was open to the public and you could climb the hillside.
I wrote about climbing to the top of a windmill in Norfolk. The view was wonderful, and well worth the effort, especially as I’m not good with heights as a rule and ladders
un-nerve me. It’s amusing to see me climbing the ladder into the loft.
I’ve never been top dog at anything, though I’ve had my moments I suppose.
Once you get to the top, it’s downhill the rest of the way, so in life, how do we know when we’ve reached our summit and it’s time to go down, or is it a natural curve and we don’t really notice?
I do know that about seven years ago I was at my peak with my music.
The acoustics in the cottage were terrific, and as we had a separate dining room where Hubby had the computer set up, I could play in the lounge whilst he was working.
This was before the arthritis in my hands really took hold, and although I still play, I don’t have the power in my joints and fingertips to express the crescendos and emphasis as I used to on some pieces I love to play.
I’ve got round that though and modified the way I play them. It’s given a new depth to familiar melodies, so maybe I reached the top and went sideways for a while.