It’s been quite a while since I last posted and I would like to thank all those who were kind enough to get in touch to ask if everything was okay.
It’s been a difficult period but the story is not mine to tell. I’m glad to report, though, that the sun is beginning to break through again, however tentatively.
The fragility of life has been at issue and it’s been a time of heightened sensitivity to everything that it is so easy to take for granted.
As always, the ebb and flow of the sea has brought immense comfort. While the world has seemed like a very uncertain and shakey place, the sea has continued to be its beautiful self – rising and falling at the predicted times.
Tonight, I would urge everyone to take time to count their blessings and stop, stop fretting about ‘stuff’ that doesn’t matter one weenchy bit in the grand scheme of things.
Sleep tight, Dear Friends, and thanks for your kindness.
Early morning in my precious Newtown Wood, just outside Tramore, brings signs of changing seasons. Just as people don’t move through life in a uniform way, trees and flowers have their own ways of adapting and moving on.
The beech tree is steadfastly holding on to her autumnal leaves until the new growth is ready for show:
For now, the sun can see through the bare tree and cast pensive shadows where soon the there will be a carpet of bluebells:
Looking skyward, it’s clear that a canopy of green leaves will soon draw the blinds over the blue sky:
Down near the little stream, the celandines gleam with pride, promise and gentle purpose as they take us by the hand to celebrate diversity, humility and here-and-nowness.
“The moon does not fight. It attacks no one. It does not worry. It does not try to crush others. It keeps to its course, but by its very nature, it gently influences. What other body could pull an entire ocean from shore to shore? The moon is faithful to its nature and its power is never diminished.”
There’s a tameness and a wildness in us all ~ whether we like to, or can, live these out or not.
I was very taken at the hairdressers the other day by a woman in her late sixties or early seventies who had long grey hair. She wanted lots of pink and purple tints put into it.
She has stayed in my mind and I wonder if she is an extreme Jenny Joseph follower:
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.
I loved her cavalier attitude to the hairdo. She said it didn’t really matter if it worked out or not; that it was an experiment.
Those of us who live on the wild side maybe need to experiment a little with tameness and I’d like to see the tame experiment with the wild.
What fun to meet on a purple bridge in the middle!
It’s been very stormy in Ireland over the last few days. It has seemed at times as if the end of the world is nigh with torrential rain, howling gales and dark, dark skies.
As I battled against the wind out at the beach during a lull in the rain, I was really struck by the beauty that can lie even in storms if we lift our heads and take a look around.
Pondering this, I had to conclude that there have been beautiful moments in the storms of life that have come my way over the years.
I’m writing this mainly as reminder to myself that storms are not all bad.
But I also want to reach out to anyone who is going through a storm in their lives right now. Please remember that the sun will shine again and that it may even be glinting at you, if only very fleetingly, to give you a glimpse of hope and better days ahead.