Liquid gold

Kings River Lake run

The sky outside the window where I write is filled with liquid gold. I tried the camera on this laptop but the result was so not what I am seeing. Which has very little to do with my run on Sunday. The lake is very low at the moment making it possible to circumnavigate the Kings River end of the lake. But the water is still cold so I chickened out of the full loop which entails fording or swimming across Kings River.

It was muddy and stony as usual so my average speed was only 5.1 mph, total distance 9.4 miles. Barefoot of course (it would be very hard on the shoes otherwise).

Along the lake shore I met a local farmer searching for a lost sheep and got into conversation. I plucked up the courage to ask him how the locals pronounced the name of the nearest mountain Silsean.  Since Sean is an Irish boy's name and is pronounced 'Shawn' I had thought it should be 'sill-shawn' but what he uttered was... well I should have asked him to repeat it.  There are various sites that give Irish pronunciation but, strangely, none have ever heard of the word Silsean. But I found an Irish synthesizer which purports that it sounds 'Slishen' (spoken very fast) which could be similar to what the man said.

Speaking of lost sheep, I was recently reminded of this poem - some may think it Victorian slush but in fact it is strongly based on one of the Gospel parables and, anyway, it made me cry, especially being aware of needy folk in our church at the moment:

There were ninety and nine that safely lay

In the shelter of the fold;

But one was out on the hills away,

Far off from the gates of gold.

Away on the mountains wild and bare;

Away from the tender Shepherd’s care.

“Lord, Thou hast here Thy ninety and nine;

Are they not enough for Thee?”

But the Shepherd made answer: “This of Mine

Has wandered away from Me.

And although the road be rough and steep,

I go to the desert to find My sheep.”

But none of the ransomed ever knew

How deep were the waters crossed;

Nor how dark was the night the Lord passed through

Ere He found His sheep that was lost.

Out in the desert He heard its cry;

’Twas sick and helpless and ready to die.

“Lord, whence are those blood-drops all the way,

That mark out the mountain’s track?”

“They were shed for one who had gone astray

Ere the Shepherd could bring him back.”

“Lord, whence are Thy hands so rent and torn?”

“They’re pierced tonight by many a thorn.”

And all through the mountains, thunder-riv’n,

And up from the rocky steep,

There arose a glad cry to the gate of heav’n,

“Rejoice! I have found My sheep!”

And the angels echoed around the throne,

“Rejoice, for the Lord brings back His own!”

Elizabeth Cecelia Douglas Clephane (18 June 1830 – 19 February 1869)