Fool's Gold

FIELDS OF GOLD - Gordon Matthew Thomas Sumner, CBE, aka “Sting” (born 2 October 1951)

You'll remember me when the west wind moves

Upon the fields of barley

You'll forget the sun in his jealous sky

As we walk in the fields of gold

So she took her love

For to gaze awhile

Upon the fields of barley

In his arms she fell as her hair came down

Among the fields of gold

Will you stay with me, will you be my love

Among the fields of barley

We'll forget the sun in his jealous sky

As we lie in the fields of gold

See the west wind move like a lover so

Upon the fields of barley

Feel her body rise when you kiss her mouth

Among the fields of gold

I never made promises lightly

And there have been some that I've broken

But I swear in the days still left

We'll walk in the fields of gold

We'll walk in the fields of gold

Many years have passed since those summer days

Among the fields of barley

See the children run as the sun goes down

Among the fields of gold

You'll remember me when the west wind moves

Upon the fields of barley

You can tell the sun in his jealous sky

When we walked in the fields of gold

When we walked in the fields of gold

When we walked in the fields of gold

I literally left a field of gold yesterday.  And it was a lovely 7 weeks.  People seem to think that because I’m almost 50 (I know, can you believe it?  I DO look that good!) that my dream of finding romantic love must have ended long ago.  Why?  Is it because I never actually married?  Is it only those who officially had a marriage, which ended by divorce or the death of a spouse, who get to stamp their life passport with “I loved and lost?”  Am I someone who never had her heart broken because I am and always have been “single?”  We “singletons” (thank you, Helen Fielding) do still dream.  We do still find love, even if it’s for a brief encounter.  Yes, like the David Lean film, Brief Encounter (1945), we meet someone and realize that we really enjoy the other’s company.  What begins as something light and fun metamorphoses unexpectedly into something sincere and real, and it is sobering.  But I am nearly 50, so I know how to hold back from falling in love as I did when I was 25.  By now, I have the experience to wait and see, and hold back, and really look at this new lover.  The waiting is important because I have learned by trial that the monsters can jump out of the closet and falling in love would be falling into a pit of despair and hopelessness.  I believe being in love is more important than falling in love, and “being” means the present.  So I judge by whether or not this relationship carries tell-tale clues of my past, so that history doesn’t repeat itself.  So before I allowed myself to fall in love this time, while the smoke and mirrors were in place, but the man behind the curtain, behind the facade, was stepping closer and closer into the light of day, I grabbed myself and said, “What is happening NOW?”  My observations and my intuitions, and then the shocking revelation that everyone else had known about this man’s particular personal demon, held me back.  Yet, the air carries the unfulfilled potential of “what might have been.”  Until I get to “what actually is,” I won’t fall in love.  But when I meet the man who makes me feel that what is shall also “be”--I will hurl myself into love.  I won’t be singing sad but beautiful songs about a few months of illusory golden days.

FIELDS OF GOLD - Sting

BRIEF ENCOUNTER (final scene)