I SEE BLUE SKY
This morning the air holds the scent of green and unfurling. The birds are well awake when I step outside and are singing to each other of a new day to be in, seemingly unbothered by the wind.
Alt text says this week’s photo is a tree with no leaves. I say it is blue sky framing the branches of a tree, and that it delighted my heart to be walking under it.
After last weekend’s yarn show I set myself a catching up kind of a week. The kind where sparkly conversations with good friends featured amongst time to tackle admin type things and time to see if the poems that wait patiently in the draft folder are ready for polishing. The kind of week without a particular routine which allowed for resting and for seizing the moment when there was a gap in the rain to take a daily stroll.
It was good to get out for daily walks again after having recently had to wait for my cough to diminish. I felt my body easing its way back in to striding out and being glad for being out in the fresh air. I also realised how much I had missed listening to music for that dedicated segment of the day. My soul shines more fully when the right sounds are in the day. The country road route is currently muddy and wet, but I like its familiarity as I get back into the swing of things. The fact that walking this route takes as long as listening to the album Personal History by Mary Chapin Carpenter is also rather splendid.
It was good to have a free and easy week, it felt rather like having a springboard to jump from on the journey towards spring. Spring is my favourite season, and I love the feeling of entering it with a sense of renewal and to revelling in the newness it offers. So many reminders of growth as the rhubarb stretches out new stems and the snowdrops flourish in the borders. Mixing these wonderful visuals in with the joy of lengthened days makes so much seem possible. It even had me venturing into the garden with a pair of secateurs to begin the big tidy up.
When I realised how much the darker days of winter affected me, I made conscious efforts to find joy within the season itself. Hot chocolate, walks wrapped up in cosy knitwear, dedicated writing time, blankets, candles and films all played their role. And possibly the most helpful of all was visualising myself on the path towards the change of season. Much like the country road right now that path has muddy patches, but there is joy in the meanders it takes and to the way it alters under frost and snow and changes of light. And when it’s dark under a new moon I remember it is a moment in time. A time to realise that standing in the darkness can be a thing of its own. A time to pause and breathe before the waxing begins again. A time of anticipation.
I thought I would be including a seasonal poem this week, but this one comes to mind for me instead because there seems to be something coming up for me about standing in the moment and noticing...
My thanks to Black Bough Poetry for featuring this poem on the Silver Branch series.
I’VE COME TO THE DESERT TO SEE THE SAND
I know now not to try
to count the grains.
There will always be those missed
because they’re lodged in fingernails
or hiding their casual grit
in peoples’ stomachs;
grazed first by molars, then swallowed
before they could be tongued and spat out.
And that softness when you let it fall
through your fingers isn’t real –
there is hardness there.
Even the colour diminishes
when you separate the grains.
You would need a microscope
to bring the beauty back.
Instead of counting
I stand
lift my head
just look at that sand.
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