Grief

"Don't grieve. Anything you lose comes round in another form."

~ Rumi

Snow

There's something quite magical about snow when it first arrives.

We've been watching and waiting for a different perspective on our dull, wet, winter landscape, enviously eavesdropping on pictures and stories of sledging and snowmen from our English neighbours.

Last night the snow arrived. Briefly so it seems. It came in drifts. 

Soft, white, puffy, fluffy snowflakes carried on ferociously icy, cold northern winds.

A contradiction....

We awoke to a magical wonderland.

And despite wails from our children at being packed off to school, their own thoughts of carrot noses, twiggy hair and stony eyes dashed by wicked, cruel parents,

I'm kind of glad the snow's not here to stay. That it will be paying just a brief visit.

Memories of being snowed in, playing family board games, baking biscuits and brewing hot chocolate, hearing the walls ring with laughter from exhilaration at snowy frolics and then wiping tears as frozen fingertips begin to thaw... those thoughts are tinged with fears.

  The fear of dwindling supplies, gas bottles freezing and water pipes bursting. Fear of driving on roads that leave bodies stiff with tension as hills and lanes are cleared and we no longer have an excuse to stay cozy and warm in front of log fires.

No, I'm kind of glad the snow's not here to stay.

But I am smiling and enjoying every moment of our sparkly, transformed world.

Even if it's just for one day...

Hope

New Years Day has many of us looking back at the previous twelve months. What went right, what went wrong, what might we have done differently... It's a day of pondering.

It's a day of hope.

Reflecting on the past can help us as we look forward, as we try to make resolutions to improve. We create aims and goals, focus on what's important. We ask ourselves what do we want from life, which direction should we turn.

However, life isn't as straightforward as writing a list and checking it off. Life has a way of broadsiding us, sometimes sending us reeling as we try to cope with the unexpected.

'They' say that facing challenges can make or break us. Sometimes it can do both. Crumbling isn't as bad as the image the word initially conjures up in our minds.

Once crumbled we can rebuild.

A cup full of crumbled soil contains unseen beauty. A cup full of crumbled soil is all it takes to germinate a precious seed. If we nurture that seed, provide it with its basic needs, it can grow into the most exquisite flower. We can't see the beauty in the crumbs. We have to patiently wait for it to unfold.

We have to trust.

So as the sun begins to set on this first day of a new year I am planning to write my lists, work towards my goals, hold onto everything I learnt in the past year, but most importantly of all, I am resolving to remember to trust and to hope.

"Learn from yesterday, live for today, hope for tomorrow. The important thing is to not stop questioning." ~ Albert Einstein

Be ground. Be Crumbled.

Very little grows on jagged rock. Be ground. Be crumbled, so wildflowers will come up where you are

~ Rumi ~

Precious Life

"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?" ~ Mary Oliver

Life ...

In an instant I realise how precious life is and how quickly, suddenly, it can be extinguished.

It was an innocuous accident. I simply slipped on a slimy mat that had been discarded in front of the door in the garden. One second my feet were firmly on the ground, the next whoosh, they'd lifted me off the ground, sliding away in front of me, out of control. As I felt myself fall, the thought flashed through my mind that I might be able to stop or at the very least recover the situation before I caused any damage to flesh or bone, but it wasn't to be, the mat was too slippery, the momentum too fast.

Thump...

When I realised I'd stopped sliding I became aware that I was laying flat on my back on the soft, mossy, ground. Initially I felt a mixture of silliness at my predicament and cross that my clean clothes needed to be changed only minutes from having put them on. I was aware my shoulders, back, bottom, fingers all ached and I was surrounded by the recycling that had emptied itself on top of me as I fell. I wondered whether falls such as this one hurt children as much as they do grown women.

My daughter quickly opened the door when she heard the commotion...

"Mammy are you okay, did you hit your head?" her voice that a second ago had been monosyllabic as I hurried her up for school, was now full of concern.

As I tentatively moved and began to lift my shoulders from the ground, muddy elbows supporting me before I hauled myself back upright, I glanced behind. My head had come to rest on the heavy limestone step that we cross dozens of times each day.. Judging by the pain I must have taken the full force of the fall across the back of my shoulders... a few centimetres more and the outcome may have been very different.

Several hours later I think I've been in shock. The reality of how extraordinarily quickly our lives can change has been chipping away in my thoughts all day.

As a result of this jolt I've said loving words to my husband, hugged my children, cuddled the cat and stroked the soft fur around the dogs ears. I've walked the garden, touched the mossy trees and noticed the remaining flowers swaying in the strong, mild autumn breeze. Despite the bruises I've cleaned out the hens, cut the grass, sowed a few vegetables and made some red onion marmalade, breathing in the vinegary, alcoholic aromas that have been wafting around the kitchen for the past few hours.

I stood and watched the sun set way off to the west and I thanked the universe and whoever is minding out for me that I'm still here, intact and am in a position to appreciate everything and everyone that I share my life with. I know this feeling will pass, soon day to day living will take over and memories of my little slip will fade away, but at this moment I'm reminded how utterly precious our lives are.

And the mat... well the mat has been banished forever though a part of me did wonder whether it should be cleaned and resurrected as a thank you for today's gift...

My Universe

If I were a tiny spider this little woodland would be my universe, it's all I would ever know or believe to exist.

I might find myself on a leaf that's picked up by the wind and blown across the woodland floor, but still I would be amongst the familiar, mossy beech trees, the fungi and the lichen that thrive in the clean air on the top of the hill.

I might hatch from my egg beneath the webbed canopy that does nothing to protect the organisms that appear daily beneath it.

As I grow and develop I'll move away - perhaps only a short distance - making my own home amongst the soft green micro forest of the old tree that I was born in. My existence would be about mating and survival and I would weave my web so intricately that at the very least I would be guaranteed a daily meal. This woodland would be my universe.

But I'm not a tiny spider.

I'm a grown woman who shares this world with you but experiences it differently. I forget that you don't see it as I do, live it the same way. If we were sitting side by side on the leafy floor, gazing up at the narly old tree, we might look at the same trunk and branches but would we see the same things? For fleeting moments our thoughts may blend and the tree's energy might weave its magic around us, but our perception of it will differ because our individual experiences are different, just as our memories of the moment will be too. The question is, does it matter?

"There is no fixed physical reality, no single perception of the world, just numerous ways of interpreting world views as dictated by ones nervous system and the specific environment or our planetary existence." ~ Deepak Chopra

Change

Does anyone else feel pain when they see healthy trees being cut?

This week my daughter asked me if I shared this sentiment and I was surprised - it's a thought I'd never owned up to so was interested to hear the question from such young lips.

We live in an area full of managed forestry. Up until now we've seen the planting, the growing, the wildlife moving in. We've watched foxes playing in the meadows that divide the regimented trees and families of pheasants wandering across the roads. We've seen stoats slinking along with mice dangling out of their mouths and have followed red squirrels skittering along the road so fast its a wonder their little legs can carry them as indecision floods their minds on whether to keep going or dive into the hedgerow. This week I followed a sparrow hawk as it glided in front of my car, flying less that a foot off the ground for two miles or more, turning with every twist and bend in the narrow lane way. I couldn't decide whether to be in awe of this sharp, intelligent bird of prey or dislike it for the fear and panic if fills the wrens and tits with in my garden as it swoops through.

For years we've felt our lanes tremble as the massive lorries and their trailers laden with freshly cut trunks power along the roads on their way to saw mills. I haven't given them a second thought save concern they might put my little car in the ditch, their size and power dwarfing everything in their way. Recently however, the logging has begun in forestry that lines the roads we travel along daily.

For years the lanes have been shaded by evergreen pine trees and for months on end the frost and ice seems to be permanently stuck to the tarmac, the road surface never seeing the light of day.

This winter it will be very different. This winter the landscape has changed. Where once there was shadowy darkness, now we see the aftermath of man and machinery. The changes the logging has brought to our environment are quite shocking.

I hear myself explaining to my children that this is managed woodland, the reason these trees were planted was so that they could be cut and used in industry. This is a good thing. My children express concern that the wildlife - the birds, mice, insects have now become homeless, their worlds turned upside down as a result of this felling, and I have had to do my best to calm them, reassure them that nothing will be hurt, everything will find a new home, everything that lived amongst the trees will find somewhere new to live, however disorientating it is for them now.

And yet........ I feel their concern too. I look at the temporary roads that have been carved out, the wood piles as they get higher and higher, the sunlight as it blankets soil for the first time in years and years and I imagine the turmoil this type of farming has caused for everything that resides there.

The streaming sunlight should be a good thing shouldn't it? The light and the warmth and the openness? Yet I'm looking at the sunlit twigs and branches as they lay discarded and cloaked with golden hues and I can't help but think what an enormously massive change has just taken place.

The trees can do nothing but wait patiently for their time to come. They can't move to a new home, or run away. With quiet dignity, for they have no choice, these tall, scented, prickly trees await their inevitable fate.

We are witnessing the end of life as it was for years and years in our neighbourhood and are awaiting something new....

That's a good thing ....... right?