Peter Piper's portfolio

I came to see you today. Walking in the winter bleakness foot crushing dead leaf and sparrow's wing frozen earth unrelenting; I made my way among the naked hazel to where you ran, crashing. I didn't expect to meet you there among the limestone rocks, where the ice made patterns of intricate filligree like lace or leaf vein but not of human fashion.  I thought I was alone accompanied only by memories and regrets, that this winter the hearts too are frozen, stand separate and insensible - like the trees that grace your flanks. And, looking up, there you were. I heard you first; your song a passionate torrent that nothing could stop, each syllable as transient as each droplet of your being, as momen...

Only yesterday I was at the centre of your world, holding the frame through which you saw and through which you became; I was part of the meaning and the weft of life. Now I am relegated to visitor status, like an uncle you can hardly bear to see, and your meanings - each heart moment of joy or sorrow or each musing on life and love pass through you without the need for paternal reference except a nod to the cells we share. Your disappointment is utterly mine. I, it seems, have given up the right to give you away: you prefer maternal arms to hold and release. Your womanhood you claim as a defense now against the failure of this man who so wounds and so disappoints.