Monday, 25 April 2011
From the bedroom window I can see petals falling. With every shifting breeze, a gentle shower of shell-pink confetti rains down. How gracefully the flowering cherry tree relinquishes her spring finery, a little at a time, like the slow ebbing of a tide.
No regret, no clinging on to past glory. No resentment, no cutting-off-your-nose-to-spite-your-face wholesale dumping. Just a gentle shedding, releasing what no longer serves easily, willingly, naturally, open-heartedly.
I know that only change is constant, yet in my own life how often do I cling to what is outmoded because it's familiar? How often do I hang on to possessions I no longer need 'because it may come in useful one day', or because Great Aunt Mabel gave it to me and I feel guilty for not actually wanting it?
Someone once told me that a leaf only falls in the autumn when the bud of next year's leaf has formed below, ready to unfurl in the spring when conditions are right.
Am I preventing new growth in my life by clinging onto the past?
May I be like the cherry tree. Able to sense the shifts and changes in my life and move on without regret.
Monday, 18 April 2011
My lawn is full of dandelions.
Glowing in the sunlight, shivering in the breeze. My lawn is full of golden treasure...
The lawnmower died last summer, and the once-tidy green expanse outside my window suffered a series of disastrous patchy scalpings for the rest of the year as I struggled to tame it with the strimmer.
This spring I have not yet cut the grass, which has suddenly spurted into growth. It is beautiful, lush, green - thick with dandelions, daintily dotted with lady's smock and nodding cowslips.
My neighbour used to wage war on dandelions each spring, pulling them up and chopping them down in a furious and futile battle to contain their exuberance and stop them spreading little parachute-puff seeds far and wide.
My neighbour passed away. The dandelions nonchalantly survived her feverish assaults and have spread with joyous, reckless abandon.
Now bees bumble contentedly as they feast on the abundant, incandescent blooms, and swallows swoop, chattering gleefully in the blue spring sky.
I put the strimmer away, unused for another day, and go to lie among the dandelions in the warm, damp grass.