Chasing sunsets is one of my many addictions and has become even more heightened during this era of Lockdowns.
I think this is because sunsets offer certainty in a wobbly world. The sun will set at a specific time, even if you can’t see it because of clouds.
Also, sunsets can be supremely dramatic but are never, ever the same.
I particularly liked this recent one because it offered a great sense of hope right to the very end and I feel that is something we all crave.
I am one of the fortunate ones who has a caring, loving Valentine. He’s not into Valentine’s Day but that matters not as I am well used to it now and know that he has a heart of gold and cares more about me than I could ever fully know.
But, today my heart is breaking for all those people who, for whatever, reason are trying to scramble through this day in a world that feels empty and lonely because the love of their life is no longer with them.
I think especially of older couples who have been ripped apart by Covid19 after years of togetherness or young lovers whose imagined futures have been cut short by the death of one of them from Covid or some other illness or tragedy.
Days like this can be incredibly difficult when there is an assumption that love is in the air for all when, in fact, it feels like it has been replaced by an abyss of sadness.
I suspect most of us have known Valentine’s Days like that but they can be all too easy to cast into the background. However, we need to be especially cognisant that love can bring agony as well as ecstasy and much in between and none of us knows how the dice will fall.
I just hope that those who are feeling lonely today have a treasure trove of memories to draw upon that can sustain them and that they can see even a tiny glimmer of light for the the future.
Let none of us be complacent and let all of us be empathetic.
Ireland’s Covid cases have skyrocketed in the last few days and we are headed for a heavy lockdown – due to be announced in a few minutes.
The world feels shaky and fragile in so many ways but today I glimpsed hope under the bare Hydrangea by our garden gate. A clump of darling snowdrops smiled up at me with their fresh green leaves and tiny buds showing white. If ever there was a brave, resilient flower, the snowdrop has to be the winner. Just seeing this beauty emerging from the sodden ground made everything seem so much brighter and it was as if hope had come to rescue a bad situation. Nature has such a precious heart.
SNOWDROPS
Do you know what I was, how I lived? You know
what despair is; then
winter should have meaning for you.
I did not expect to survive,
earth suppressing me. I didn’t expect
to waken again, to feel
in damp earth my body
able to respond again, remembering
after so long how to open again
in the cold light
of earliest spring–
afraid, yes, but among you again
crying yes risk joy
in the raw wind of the new world.
Louise Gluck
December 21st is a major day on my calendar because it marks the end of the dark, dark days of the year. Today in Ireland, sunrise was at 8.32am and sunset at 4.20pm. Last light is at 5.01 – that’s just in 12 minutes time, as I write.
It’s like nature knew today was Winter Solstice. The sun didn’t bother to come out and the clouds were almost touching the ground. But, my precious sea was showing white with lovely fluffy waves and the bulbs that I planted in hope back a few months ago seemed to spring up overnight as it knowing that their time is fast arriving.
I usually make a pilgrimage to one of out local dolmens on December 21 to celebrate the day but my sprained ankle is still restricting me in terms of walking on anything but the most even of even ground.
However, I am at the local dolmens in spirit and remembering times when we lived near Newgrange in Co. Meath, which is such a special place for Winter Solstice people.
It’s been a dark year with the pandemic hanging over us all and we still have a good deal to Winter out but there IS light ahead if we remain patient and treasure every little glimmer along the way.
I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness for it shows me the stars. (Og Mandino)
One of my favourite occupations is deadheading flowers in the garden and seeing all the new growth beneath. It always gives me hope and connects me to a lifetime of being in the garden.
Part of deadheading in December is having red-breasted robins for company and being able to see birds on the bare branches.
I often think that we, as people, could probably do with some deadheading betimes to ensure that we are able to thrive and realise our potential.
I’ve been pondering what such deadheading might look like and have come to the conclusion that it may well be as simple as the short spells in the garden or even a passing pinch of a single old viola bloom as I head out the gate. So, here’s a few examples of human deadheading that work for me:
#1. Going for a brisk walk, preferably by the sea or along a riverbank;
#2. Soaking in a warm bath;
#3. Getting carried away by a beautifully shot film;
#4. Dancing madly around the kitchen to old fashioned Rock n’ Roll;
#5. Seeing swans in full flight
#6. Sharing a laugh that feels like it will never end;
#7. Glimpsing a rainbow;
#8. Feasting on the horizon at sunrise;
#9. Sharing a passion fruit;
#10. Running into the arms of a loved one.
What would top your list?
Irish eyes are smiling more than ever at the moment as we are learning to live with masks and face coverings.
Eyes can say so much. They undoubtedly are windows to the heart.
More than ever, we need to work at the coming together of gentle gazes, filled with empathy and kindness. Also, the gaze needs to be a collective one in which we all look at what we can do as individuals, families, communities, counties, countries … to help reduce the conditions in which Covid spreads and also the extent to which lives and livelihoods are impacted.
If ever there was a time when each individual’s every action counts, this is it.
Let us look together towards the horizon of hope.
Hope is beyond important and I sometimes wonder what it looks like.
I got a glimpse this morning as I saw the rapture of the dogs greeting the day. They tore out towards the backdoor but the oldest one hesitated for a split second and melted my eyes with his with a glance of love and gratitude. I headed into the kitchen with warmth in my heart and hope for the day ahead.
What’s your sense of what hope looks like?
Ireland was given an injection of hope this week when two young paddle-boarders who had been missing at sea for fifteen hours were found safe and well.
It has been deemed the ‘good news story’ of 2020, as the two young women, aged 17 and 23, were swept out from a beach in the West of Ireland at evening time and were caught in a storm with high winds, heavy rain, crashing waves and thunder and lightening.
The pair, who are first cousins, were wearing just their swimming togs but crucially had life jackets on. They kept their heads, stayed calm, acted smart by tying their boards together and eventually to a lobster pot.
There was a massive sea search with all parts of the rescue services, fishing community and local groups coming together.
The country waited and waited, finding it hard to cling to hope, with each passing hour, but at last we heard they were safe and there has been an outpouring of absolute joy.
Like all countries, we needed to see a glimmer of hope in these dark times of Covid19. It’s like the two girls symbolize the importance of staying calm, clinging to hope and, of course, the power of community effort against the force of nature.
We all need bouyancy aids these days and a lobster pot or two to hang onto as we wait for better times.
One of the highlights of my year is the arrival of the first snowdrops in my garden and today was the day.
Tramore was shrouded in muggy fog but deep down under the unpruned hydrangea by the front gate, I caught sight of the gleaming white of snowdrops. This moment symbolises so much to me: light after dark; hope after doubt; courage after falterings; reunion after separation; joy after teardrops …..
Even if the hopes you started out with are dashed, hope has to be maintained. (Seamus Heaney)
these september gales
and darkening evenings
will pass to pastels
