West Lulworth, how I felt in the old graveyard there

Sometimes, I reflect upon my own mortality - once, I was crisply reminded of it by Dr Snook - he pointed to the TV screen in the Endoscopy Unit - "there's the tumour", he said - I couldn't bring myself to look - despite the Valium, my heart was lurching in my chest -

Mr Qureshi saved my life - I'm still here - the world has never seemed so wonderful and strange -

I still aware, however, of the fact that I am living with cancer - I think of Tom Lubbock's words, of missing a present with a future - 

I have taken to visiting old churches, finding peace in the contemplation of their memorial tablets, in the feel of their lichened stone - I am calmed by the rays of late afternoon sunlight, passing through high windows - I am beguiled by the flowers placed in vases, the dark letters in the opened Bible -

I have only to unfold my Ordnance Survey Map - there, before me, are marked the churches of Purbeck and South Dorset -

I loitered for a while in the old graveyard in West Lulworth - it's sited just off the village street, between cottages with small windows and roofs of venerable mossy thatch -

I looked at the inscriptions, carved in delicate lettering, upon the slender gravestones - angels blew trumpets, cherubs' heads were framed by feathery wings - a yew tree spread long dark boughs - blades of grass stirred in the salty wind -

I looked at the names recorded here - I thought of the lives each stone remembered - I did not feel sad or afraid - I was, instead, aware of my place in the flow of time - here I stood, in this moment, with my eyes open, my heart ready to be filled with joy -