CELEBRATING THE SPARKLE
This morning the air carries the natural smell of the sweetness of thinning brown leaves. A few stars shine amongst the cloud, and I wonder how many shooting stars there have been above me. One night I stood in the darkness of a powercut, let my eyes acclimatise, and saw two slowly gliding to make their lines across the sky before the cloud smoothed in. The next morning the repeated call of a tawny owl made the best gentle alarm clock as dawn broke.
I wanted to
mark a moment of joy this week when I was close to completing the facilitated element
of the Level 7 ‘In Good Company’ coaching qualification. This has been a huge
achievement for me and I didn’t want to wait until the very end because
sometimes I forget to enjoy the anticipation of endings. So, I put a call out
on Twitter to see if anyone wanted to join me in having a hot chocolate at
16:45 on Wednesday. And people did and it gladdened my heart to be toasting my
joy and the joy of others sharing a moment. The fact a 'best day ever' kind of song came from this for one young person joining in reminded me of a wonderful past pupil who so often had the best day ever. That's the kind of thing that makes my heart sing.
The satisfaction and pride I then felt when I actually completed the first part of the coaching training on Thursday was immense. Each person in the group received appreciations from the other members to mark the ending of this stage of our learning. It was wonderful to hear what people had said about one another and I absolutely loved listening to mine. It is good to appreciate and be appreciated. I am so grateful to all the coaches who have given me time, space and listening ears so far – the coaching space gives me real clarity around my goals. The next step for me is to complete my 72 hours of coaching practice and that gives me a great way to start the new year in 2024.
Today’s photo to accompany this blog is Ronnie wearing a necklace of baubles with gold stars inside and donning the Christmas lights in celebration of the sparkle that comes from achieving good things. I like my description more than alt text which stated that this is: “a stuffed animal with lights around it”.
So, my new relationship with Mondays has given me the time to focus on what next for me and has also given me this blog. I have enjoyed both these things very much, and I love that I am continually learning about myself and working to be the best I can be.
On Friday I took the drive to Edinburgh that I have been wanting to do for some time. And there was friendship and food and laughter and plans to go again soon. These are all perfect things. A moment of amusement from Alexa came after I learned that she will help time the risotto and the roasting of the squash. She told us that she does like pina coladas, but does not like getting caught in the rain because it makes her circuits fizz. She is consistent in this message, and I am already wondering what other song lyric gems she will comment upon.
Before I sign off for a seasonal break I want to celebrate the poems that have evolved from this very space in its first 16 weeks. I hope you find a poem here that you like, and I hope you will tune in again in January. Here are the poems in the order in which they were created:
A New Relationship with Mondays
Just before it begins, the air smells
of raw meringue.
Warm carpet,
and someone else's perfume folow.
Then it is tinged
with the scent
of pink tea rose.
When September draws to a close
it brings a hint of horse chestnut
and the aroma of an empty
vanilla ice-cream tub.
Birds sing and call from different corners.
I sense a slowness in me
as I breathe and listen.
October Opens
with an element of oak
riding on the air.
A week passes,
and my prediction of mint
comes true.
After that I cannot determine
the scent of the outside world;
the air is cold,
clouds blur the stars.
I find myself longing
for the smell of leaves,
wondering
what the moon smells of.
She winks a star,
shrugs off
that thin circular blanket of cloud
reveals
subtle waning against the blue.
We Studied Fruit Flies in our Lunch Break
Held our lenses with care.
I remember the focus on looking,
how we blinked the spider legs
of our eyelashes clear out of sight.
Exactly what we charted escapes me,
like the day I dropped the lid
to expose the wrong chamber
and saw a thinning puff of flies
head for the ceiling.
Something to do with patterns of shading,
or dots like gently painted on freckles,
or simply the curve of the abdomen.
Now I find out
males vibrate those thin wings
to play a courtship song
and that people have been
watching their lives closely for years.
November Cold
November cold
is bone cold,
chalked moon cold.
November cold is fragile echoes
for the poet who does not like petrichor.
November cold says,
winter’s coming,
clouds your breath.
November cold has the indistinguishable
scent of trees riding on the air.
November cold
is rain cold,
faintly herbed.
November cold says,
the poet who does not like
rain on dry ground is a fruit fly.
November cold
is metal cold
spiked cold.
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