Leanne

[abu nuwas]

I have had this in my drafts.  It never feels like the right time.  The words never quite feel ready.
——-

I don’t know what to say.  Shock only seems to pave the way to denial.  I keep editing and changing the words, but they never seem to get it right.  I haven’t been able to bring myself to post them out in the open.  These words shouldn’t have to exist at all.  There should never have been occasion to use them.

I thought she was like Athena, magical, wise, and fierce, defending us all with her glittering word-sword.  Whenever there was trouble, she would roll her words into electric balls of fury, barbed with wit and humor. She was the oncoming storm, the thrill of a change in the wind when the sky grows dark and there is a rumble in the distance.  It was breathtaking.  So many times she made me feel safe, protected.

How is it possible for a person to play with words so easily? She made poetry look effortless and the words never failed to be gorgeous and potent and layered with meaning.

And yet, she was kind, gentle and wise, a teacher through and through.  When I first joined the site, I felt like I was constantly stepping on toes and bumping into walls, and it was almost too much and I was going to run away.  I did run away for a while.  She spoke to me in private and gave me words of encouragement and advice.  She always seemed to know when I was feeling wobbly and would say or do something to make the world go right again.

Nothing I say here seems enough or right. But she meant something to me, more than she probably realized. 

I am a very infrequent visitor to the Pig, now, but kept in touch with Leanne over email etc, and followed her site.  Like Quixilated, I have been unable to write a thing here or elsewhere. I knew about her condition, and how the treatment was going, and even chided her for being so chirpy, at one point. Also, like Quixilated, by an extraordinary coincidence, I told her that while my prayers would probably be counter-productive, I would compose a prayer to Athene, which would sort out all her problems. 

I am so touched by everything that Milo, Billy Todd and others have said. She was a poet of a high order, but also of a low, doggerel like order when the fit was on her. She was stern in keeping the site free of trolls and the like, but a peace-maker when she saw some debate (mea culpa) showing signs of turning sour. Some of the quick repartee she used actually did catch me off my guard, and make me laugh out loud.  

I think she had had a rough time, but happily met her partner- husband, at the very end - Grant, and experienced great joy and fulfilment, even if, as she claimed, he ( a fervent Celtic supporter), suspected her of secreting somewhere, the blue colours of Rangers, their bitter rivals in the Glasgow 'Old Firm' derby. She flourished here, and with poetry generally, with her children, and then her enthusiasm for teaching. 

If only some monument could be made for her! She deserved, I thought, a world-wide recognition for her poetry. We probably each have our favourites. Mine was the one telling of the old soldier who had fought in the East, and simply could not bring himself to go and enjoy the wonderful Japanese garden which had been created. That and... well, no. I must call a halt. I shall miss her v much, and now, I shall never be able to ask about how she came to know Scottish Gaelic -- she, a descendant of 'first-fleeters' on either side? Nor her considered opinion about double hyphens. 

If only I had finished the prayer to Athene! Good-bye my friend.  I hope the celestial whisky is up to scratch, if not, maybe try a single malt nectar?