Dead Can Dance to the vernal equinox

Years ago I photographed Lisa Gerrard of Dead can Dance, never heard their music though. Did some really nice pictures of her which I’ll post up sometime, when I find them…
Last night listened to their whole oeuvre and Lisa Gerrard’s solo stuff… amazing. She can sound Indian or African or medieval…
Really atmospheric. Especially while roasting in front of a black iron fire graven with hieroglyphs, apples, and globes…
What a full-on spring solstice it’s been… head and heart wrecked…friendships erased, new ones begun…humiliations suffered, eyes opened to duplicity…

Later, walking along Islington High St feeling unloved and sorry for myself, I saw an old woman outside a charity shop, in a wheelchair. Homeless person, I thought. On closer inspection, I realised it was my friend from Rhythms of Resistance. Two years ago, this woman was a surdo player, an activist, an initiator, an organiser, a blonde husky voiced strong woman who could still ‘pull’ … turned out the huskiness of her voice was an initial symptom of Motor Neurone disease.. the same thing that Stephen Hawking has. Then she started to drag one leg a little… I remember being with her, when we played the Tolpuddle Martyrs festival, and trying to hold back the tears while she confessed “I’m so scared” whispering ” I don’t know what I’ve got but it doesn’t look good”. Now she cannot speak at all, she has to communicate through a little computer. Her long blonde hair is grey, her teeth stained and her face lined. She cannot eat spicy or hard foods.
Her friend and her were looking for a place to eat in Islington that has ground level access and a disabled toilet. Very difficult.
Further along The Angel, Chapel Market, I saw Trine, Danish siren of the band. “Hello Trine”, I said, “How are you?” She made to walk straight past me, and at the very last minute fixed me with a stony stare bleating out one syllable ‘good’, then walked on. Sheesh. What a nutter! Beautiful, with chiseled Scandinavian cheekbones, but completely barking. Poor Scorpio’s…( I always remember people’s signs)