Lughnasadh/Lammas/Calan Awst Blessings

Today the Harvest season begins, as an abundance of sun-ripened fruits and grains begin to become available in garden, field and hedgerow. Traditionally it was a time of hard work (cutting, gathering in and processing the harvest), but also a time of community, co-operation and ultimately celebration once all the work was done and people knew they had enough food stored away to see them through the coming winter. 

Yet the season is also tinged with sadness. One recurrent theme in harvest folklore is that of sacrifice - the notion that the spirit of the corn is sacrificed when the grain is cut. Many customs are ways to honour this sacrifice, or they provide the spirit of the harvest a safe place to reside over the winter months until next year's seeds are planted and the cycle begins anew. 

And of course, the culmination of summer inevitably means that autumn is beginning to edge in. Just as at the festival directly opposite Lughnasadh on the Wheel of the Year, Imbolg, one can feel the pulse of the land beginning to stir even though (apart from snowdrops) there is little visual evidence, at Lughnasadh if you drop your consciousness down and feel into the land you can sense it beginning to relax and make itself ready for the coming season of rest. 

How will you be celebrating Lughnasadh this year? I will make some bread, pick some blackberries and give thanks for all that I have so far harvested this year - after all, it's still just the beginning of the harvest and many blessings still await us.

Precious

'The Wheel of Fortune' Tarot card from (L-R) 

The Gaian Tarot by Joanna Powell Colbert,

The Witches' Wisdom Tarot by Phyllis Curott and Danielle Barlow,

The Mood Tarot by Natalie Meraki

 

Yesterday, 

I watched the livestream of my beloved friend's funeral

While a dear one held me as I cried

Then fed me,

And we talked and mourned and laughed together.

Sometimes,

I wonder about this Wheel of Fortune we're all on.

Where is the up?

And when is the down?

Or is it all 

Just up and down,

All at once

And all the time?

Perhaps,

There is no Wheel of Fortune,

No up then down.

There is just life:

Grief and love and laughter and tears

All at once

And all of the time.

Which is why - while it lasts -

It is all so damned precious.

Messages From the Universe

Things On The Blog have been pretty quiet lately, mostly because Things In Real Life have been anything but quiet. IB and I find ourselves with three elderly parents between us who are increasingly reliant on our help with day to day living. As they become less able-bodied and begin to struggle with cognitive issues we've taken on more and more caring duties. It's been one of those situations that has rather snowballed in recent months, in that what was initially just a small amount of extra work has begun to seem all-encompassing. I work days and IB works evenings so his Mum - who now lives with us and is physically very frail - always has someone at home with her if she needs anything. My parents only live a 20 minute drive away, but they are also increasingly reliant on my help so I have had to drastically cut my work schedule so that I have enough time to assist them. Our social life has pretty much shrunk to zero, and we don't even get to spend that much time with each other. 

The last few weeks have been especially stressful, with lots of medical issues and appointments for all three parents, a blizzard of paperwork and officialdom to deal with, the death of several household appliances (why do they all break at once?) and all the kind of SNAFUs usually thrown up when Mercury is in retrograde. I find myself fantasising wistfully about going on retreat - or even just running away for the afternoon to sit in blissful peace in the woods. 

Yesterday as I walked to work after parking the car I was feeling incredibly stressed and overwhelmed by everything, wondering if I am actually strong enough to cope with it all. Part of the pavement was coned off due to some kind of groundworks in progress, so I stepped out into the road to go around the obstruction. As I did, I spotted something on the ground. It looked like a shell, and I wondered how on earth it had got there - and how something as fragile as a shell has survived lying in the middle of the road. I nearly stepped over it, but curiosity got the better of me and I picked it up, expecting to find it was actually just a pebble that looked like a shell. Yet as my fingers closed around it, I realised it really was a shell. 

Now I should mention at this point that this isn't the first time I've found a strange object in my path. I call it pavement divination - when I find these oddities I think of them as messages from the Universe and pay attention to what they may be telling me. A while ago I was working on self-care and heart magic and I found a tiny 'Ace of Hearts' charm in my path while walking to work. I took that as a sign of encouragement that I was on the right track. And of course, there was that whole dead frog thing many years ago. 

I turned the shell over in my hand, and saw that it was filled with cement. I think it had come from  the hard core that had either been excavated during the groundworks, or was waiting to backfill the hole. It seems incredible to me that something as fragile as a shell - even one filled with cement - could have survived being dug up, knocked about, and thrown down onto the road in a town centre. And yet here it was, nestled in the palm of my hand. It had sustained some chips and scratches, but it had weathered it all. 

I smiled, closing my fingers around this small miracle, this battered but resilient treasure. If this small shell can endure the tough times and come out intact then so can I. 

And then the Universe sent another message. As I straightened up, a car horn sounded behind me, reminding me I was still standing in the road. I turned to wave an apology at the driver, only to see it was one of my closest friends driving past and waving in greeting. This is a friend who has always been there for me, someone who I know has my back and who I love dearly. Of all the cars that could have driven by at that moment... It seemed like the Universe wanted to remind me that not only am I resilient enough to get through this challenging period, but that I am lucky enough to have wonderful, loving, supportive people in my life.

My miracle shell is now on my altar, and I will keep it as a token to help me remember in the tough times that I am stronger than I think - and that I am not alone.      

Embracing Autumn: Cosy

Last week's golden Indian Summer weather has turned into blustery winds and lashing rain. This morning when I went out to the chicken run, the storms had damaged the overhead netting that protects our flock from buzzards and goshawks. Slipping in mud and squinting through rain-splashed eyes, I struggled to tie everything securely back into place, with cold slippery fingers.

How delicious then, to come back into the warm house, cast off my sodden jacket and boots, towel my hair dry and curl up with a hot cup of coffee and a few pages of a good book. 

This is definitely one of the great pleasures of Autumn and Winter. Cold, wet weather and short, dark days make one truly appreciate cosiness. The Danish word 'Hygge' is often now used in the UK. As I understand it, its one of those words that has no direct English translation but it's usually used (in English) to mean cosy or comfortable. It's a good word, but I have to confess to loving the English word 'cosy', which seems to have been a little bit pushed to one side in the enthusiastic  embracing of 'Hygge'.

When I hear 'cosy' I think of curling up under soft quilts and blankets, sitting round a crackling log fire with loved ones, a gentle candlelit glow, a warming mug of hot chocolate, fleecy slippers and snuggly scarves. It brings memories of the nights when, as a very small and sleepy child I was wrapped securely in a fluffy blanket for the journey home from my Grandparents' house. It makes me imagine hibernating animals in their dens, overwintering safely and securely through the harshest weather. It makes me eager to dig out sheepskin boots, favourite jumpers, quilted coats.

Here's to being cosy - one of Autumn's great pleasures.

Embracing Autumn: Lean Into Cosy

As Autumn winds begin to blow and the temperatures start to drop, embrace the opportunity to make life more cosy.

• Reacquaint yourself with flannel shirts, chunky sweaters, woolly socks or tights, comfy cardigans, boots, slippers, velvet and corduroy...
• Put a soft blanket or throw on the sofa so you can cuddle up under it in the evenings
• Enjoy candlelit evenings and early mornings
• Swap frappuccinos for cappuccinos, iced tea for steaming mugs of tea, chocolate milkshakes for hot chocolate and whipped cream...
• Enjoy a log fire in the hearth, or a bonfire in the garden
• Cosy up your home with increased insulation, thick curtains, draft excluders etc
• Pile up your bed with cushions, throws and blankets
• From within your snuggly sanctuary, listen to the rain against the windows and the wind in the trees, and appreciate the simple blessings of 'cosy'.              

Embracing Autumn: Harvest

I began this series of posts by talking about the fact that the season we now know as 'Autumn' was originally called 'Harvest', and I've touched on the subject of harvest a couple of times since. Before we go any further, let's examine the theme a little more deeply.

When we speak of 'harvest' we mean both the gathering of a crop and the crop itself. Although we tend to think of this crop primarily in agricultural terms (a crop of wheat or apples for example) the term is also used to describe gathering other things (such as solar power), or even gaining intangible benefits as a result of your efforts (e.g 'harvesting goodwill'). The cycle of a year in agricultural terms, goes from Spring when seeds are sown and growth begins, through Summer when crops are encouraged by sun and rain to grow and ripen, to Autumn when everything comes to fruition and on to Winter, a period of rest and renewal before things begin anew again the next Spring. This same cycle repeats in our own lives as we begin sowing the seeds of new projects, nurturing them and watching them grow before they finally bear fruit (and then we usually take a bit of time out to rest on our laurels before beginning something else). Of course, in our modern lives the two cycles don't always mesh as our projects and goals aren't necessarily agricultural - a perfect example of this is the academic year which tends to begin in the Autumn. Yet even so, the themes of the cycle remain the same.

Embracing Autumn: Harvest

Today, I invite you to think about how you have experienced - and how you are currently experiencing - 'Harvest' in your life. Where are you in the cycle right now? Are you about to begin a new period of study? Are you already working towards an achievement such as a promotion at work? Have you just finished knitting your first ever pair of socks?  Are you entering your first, second or third trimester of pregnancy? Is work on your novel flowing towards completion, or is it frozen by writer's block?  Are you *this close* to achieving your target weight? Did you grow a magnificent crop of potatoes or strawberries this summer? Do you finally - after all those lessons - feel ready to take your driving test?

Our personal harvests take many forms, and just like the agricultural ones they can produce feelings of abundance - or disappointment, and every one of them contains the seeds (in the form of useful experience and lessons learned) of future harvests. Take a little time to journal on the subject. (The quote on the photo above is from a post I wrote a few years back, which you may find helpful to kick start some more thoughts on the subject. You can find it here.) 

Write about what the word 'harvest' means to you, and how the theme has manifested itself in your life, both in the past and the present. Write also about what you hope to harvest in the future - remember, every harvest begins with the planting of a seed... 

Embracing Autumn: Harvesting Beauty

One of the decisions that I made in lockdown was that I wanted to take control of my life. More specifically, I wanted to actively pursue and build a happy life for myself rather than waiting for happiness to randomly appear (or not). To achieve this goal I've made numerous changes and I'm working on adopting new happiness-growing habits. One of the simplest and yet most effective practices I've found is to actively notice the beauty around me. At different times during the day - but especially when I'm feeling sad, or angry or bored - I make myself take a slow, deep breath and look around for something beautiful. Sometimes I challenge myself to find 3, or 6 or 10 beautiful things. You know what? It's surprisingly easy once you start. The sky is almost always beautiful in some way - a striking colour or full of amazingly shaped clouds, or soft with rain. The sound of birdsong or children playing or friends laughing together is beautiful. I might spot a sleek cat making its graceful way along the top of a wall, or see a dog joyfully running on the beach. I notice flowers and the play of sunlight through leaves, the rainbows made by a sprinkler on a lawn, a bright pot of geraniums, the rising of the moon, the warmth of the sun on my skin. Once you get into the habit of noticing, beauty is everywhere.

Embracing Autumn: A Harvest of Beauty

In this season of harvest, make it your daily practice to harvest the beauty around you and store it in your heart to feed and nourish you through the hard times. Try it now - find three beautiful things in your surroundings. List them to yourself as a sacred prayer, hold them in your heart. Now find some more. Repeat. At the end of the day, just before you sleep, list all the beauties your day has held. Sweet dreams.

 

Slowly Re-awakening

I intended to take a little break from posting once I finished my 'Winter Blessings and Beauties' experiment of posting every day throughout Winter, but I didn't mean to let quite so much time pass between posts! Nevertheless, even if I haven't been writing here about it, I have been diligently looking for signs of spring every day. Of course, the weather Gods decided to throw a sizeable spanner in the works by sending us snow, ice, gales and floods during the last month. But though spring may not manifest as quickly as I might hope, the Wheel of the Year is moving inexorably on, and Spring is undoubtedly underway. 

Here, snowdrops, primroses and daffodils are suddenly everywhere. On bright days, previously unnoticed celandines open their golden petals in wide, joyous reflection of the sun.    

Yesterday, sitting on my bench overlooking the valley and listening to the drumming of a woodpecker somewhere in the trees, I suddenly spotted the first new leaves of the season, glowing translucent gold in the sun. They were on an elder tree in a sheltered spot, and of course I had to immediately make my way down the hill to admire them up close.

 

From there I spotted gorse in full, brilliant bloom, which was attracting early insects to feast on its delicately fragranced flowers.

At the edge of the veggie patch there are crocuses glowing like jewels where I planted them many years ago. I'm so glad I did! Every glimpse of them gladdens my heart.

In a sheltered spot in the village there are pussy willow catkins in abundance. Here, further up the hill where we are more exposed to the elements there are only hazel catkins so far, dancing like lambs' tails in the breeze.

They are the male flowers of the hazel of course. Much harder to spot are the female hazel flowers which look like tiny crimson sea-anemones. In autumn, if they are fertilised by the pollen from the catkins each one will become a hazel nut. 

Yes, already I am looking forward to the year ahead, even though I have only just begun sowing seeds and my potatoes are still chitting on the windowsill. That is one of the wonderful things about following the changing seasons, the rhythms and cycles of the Earth. Always changing, always the same they give a pattern to our lives that is both dynamic and reassuring. That is a great gift in these strange times. 

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 94: Imbolc

After journeying through the Winter together, we find ourselves at Imbolc! Imbolc is seen as the first day of Spring. Although it's still cold and grey outside, by this time of year the days are noticeably longer than at Yule, the first bulbs are beginning to flower, the birds are beginning to choose their mates and their nesting sites. Here in Wales the first lambs appear in the fields, drifts of snowdrops appear along the hedgerows and the ravens wheel overhead in spectacular aerial courtship dances.

Imbolc is thought to derive from the Irish 'i mbolc' meaning 'in the belly' - referring to the soon-to-be-born lambs in the bellies of pregnant ewes. It is a time of promise, as the Wheel turns from Winter to Spring and the green world gradually reawakens.

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 94

Imbolc

As we find ourselves at Imbolc, let's look back and give thanks to the Winter for all its Blessings and Beauties, for all we have learned and experienced, created and enjoyed over the last three months. 

And let's look forward to the season of Spring which lies ahead of us, with all its Blessings and Beauties yet to unfold.

May we look back with gratitude to the Winter gone, and forward with hope and a sense of adventure to the Spring to come. 

Blessed Be.     

 

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 90: Winter Retrospective and Winter's End Ritual

As we near the end of Winter, it's a good time to pause and review the last few months - and this project, intended to encourage a positive experience of the season. 

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 90

Winter Retrospective

I suggest you take a few days to go through this process of looking back (and forward) to examine your experience of Winter in sufficient depth before you move onto the Winter's End Ritual.

Cast your mind back in time to the beginning of November. Samhain had just been and gone, and the whole Winter lay ahead of us. How were you feeling then? If you've been following this project, perhaps look back to the very first post to help stir your memories of how you were feeling then, mentally, physically, emotionally. What did the prospect of Winter seem like then? What were you anxious about? What were your hopes? What were you looking forward to?

Scrolling forward through the Winter Blessings and Beauties posts - and/or your journal - how did Winter unfold for you? Did it go as you expected? What surprised you? What disappointed you? What delighted you? What did you discover? 

Winter's End Ritual

After working through the Winter Retrospective exercise thoroughly, move onto the Winter's End Ritual.

Looking back, at the end of this Winter what will you be leaving behind? Write a list of those things you wish to leave behind in Winter 2020/21, and burn it or add it to your compost heap to be transformed. 

As the door between Winter and Spring swings open, what will you choose to carry forward? Make a list in your journal of all the Winter blessings and lessons for which you're grateful and carry them forward with you. 

What do you hope Spring be bringing in for you? On a fresh sheet of paper, make a list of your hopes, dreams and plans for Spring 2021. Put it somewhere you will be able to see it every day, and make sure to check in regularly to monitor your progress and keep yourself on track.

Blessed Be. 

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 70: Watercolour Days

We often think of the Winter as bleak, dark, monochrome, but on a bright cold day like today, the colours of January are those of a delicate watercolour. The pale glitter of frost. Mother-of-pearl skies. The softness of mist. The slanting golden sun.

Photo © Cathy Martin

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 70

Watercolour Days

Take time to appreciate the beauty of the colours of January on even the coldest days. It may seem like a minimalistic, monochrome time of year, but if you look at what is actually in front of your eyes you will see a kaleidoscope of colours and be amazed by the soft, gentle, pastel palette glistening with frost and gilded by sun.   

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 67: Wassail!

 Photo: Wassail Cup my brother had made for me by Barrington Pottery

"Here's to thee, old apple tree,
That blooms well, bears well.
Hats full, caps full,
Three bushel bags full,
An' all under one tree.
Hurrah! Hurrah!"

Another traditional Twelfth Night activity was Wassailing, a folk-custom in which orchards were visited and the trees sung to and blessed to ensure a good harvest in the coming year. The word 'Wassail' comes from the Anglo Saxon 'Wæs Þu hæl' which literally means 'Be thou hale (healthy)'.

The details of Wassailing ceremonies differ from community to community, but generally the trees are honoured and sung to, sometimes toast soaked in mulled, spiced cider is placed in their branches and/or a libation of the mulled cider is poured around the trees, and often the assembled group shout, sing and bang drums, pots and pans to make a huge din which will frighten any lurking malignant spirits away from the trees. Sometimes a shotgun is fired through the branches to make sure! 

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 67

Wassail

If you have any fruit trees in your garden or locality, Wassail them by singing to them and toasting their health with mulled cider or hot spiced apple juice. Here's to a good harvest! Wassail!

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 63: Perihelion

Today the Earth reaches its annual perihelion, which is the point in its orbit when it's closest to the Sun. Each year the perihelion occurs about two weeks after the Winter Solstice. The word comes from the Greek 'peri' meaning close, and 'helios' meaning Sun. At this point in the Earth's elliptical orbit around the Sun, they are a mere 91,399,454 miles apart. In July, when they reach their furthest point from each other - the aphelion - they will be 94,510,886 miles apart, a difference of more than 3 million miles.

It seems strange therefore that most people are unaware of the perihelion and aphelion and that they are imperceptible to the naked eye - not of course that we should be looking directly at the Sun at any time! It's yet another reminder of the immensity of our world and the solar system of which it is a part. It's amazing to think of the vast, intricately choreographed dance of celestial objects which continues ceaselessly - for the most part completely unheeded by us.

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 63

Perihelion

As we reach our closest point to the Sun - the closest we will be to it during the whole year - mark the occasion by lighting a candle. Dedicate it to the beautiful, life-giving Sun, and give thanks for all the light, warmth, and energy received by our small planet.   

    

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 27: Mindful Breath

 

The cold winter weather is now getting into its stride. The nights are freezing, the clear skies glittering with stars. The mornings are white with frost, sparkling in the slanting golden rays of the sun. 

This cold brings with it a winter phenomenon that has intrigued and delighted me since childhood - I can see my breath! In cold air, water vapour condenses quickly and easily. As a result, morning mist hangs in the folds of the hills, delineating their contours. And each exhalation of my breath is briefly visible, like a tiny personal cloud until it disperses on the breeze.

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 27

Mindful Breath

Our breath sustains us from the moment of our birth until that of our death. Yet for the most part it's not something we think about. Use the temporary visibility of your breath as a reminder to honour it, and give thanks for the wisdom of your body which just knows - without being told - how to take in the oxygen that your cells need and give away the unwanted carbon dioxide they produce so that it can sustain plants and trees. Breathing is simultaneously normal and miraculous. Give thanks and appreciation for every breath - visible and invisible!

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 26: Thanksgiving

Today is of course, Thanksgiving. It's an American celebration, not really celebrated here in the UK. But in the cold and dark of winter - especially the winter of this unprecedented and most difficult of years - it's rather a nice idea to literally count your blessings and give thanks.

I have to admit I was a bit sceptical in the past about the concept of formalising gratitude by keeping a gratitude journal or other similar practises. But over the years my thinking on this has shifted. Yes, it can feel a bit forced sometimes to produce regular lists of things for which you're grateful. But I've found that rather in the way that the more you seek beauty the more you see beauty, the more you count your blessings the more blessings you seem to have.

One of my favourite ways of practising gratitude is the Jar of Blessings. Do think about making one! But in the meantime, if you want to exercise your gratitude muscle the exercise below is a great way to ease yourself into the experience.  

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 26

Thanksgiving

In your journal, write a list of things you are grateful for today. You don't have to limit the number of things on your list, but try to come up with a minimum of three things. Include things that you are always grateful for - having a roof over your head, or the love you have for your children. Include things that you are grateful for that happened today - the person who lent you change for the parking meter, the particularly fine lasagne you cooked, the joke your friend told you that made you laugh out loud. Include whimsical things - the cloud you saw that looked like a giant duck, your rainbow umbrella. Include mundane things - the fact that the bus came on time this morning, the beautiful bunch of asparagus that was marked down in the greengrocers. 

It might take an effort to get started, but once you get going, you'll probably be surprised how many things you can list.

Suggestion:

Try doing this every day leading up to Yule. Think of it like a kind of Advent calendar where each day you open a door onto all the different blessings that life has for you. If you find you'd like to continue the practise after Yule, please do!

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 23: Walking On the Land, Walking In the Sky

This morning I had to scrape ice from the windscreen of the car before I could drive to work, and the trees and fields were wrapped in fog. There is something quite magical about the way mist and fog change the world. Sounds are muffled, boundaries blurred, a new horizon is plotted as the world beyond a certain distance appears to simply vanish. A misty, foggy day makes me want to play mental games of 'what if?' with myself. What if the wider world really has vanished? What is this new island set adrift in a blurry sea? Where does the sky end and the land begin? What is real?

Fog renders the world a liminal space, a crossing place between the mundane and the magical. The air we breathe is simultaneously air and water. The world is there as usual and mysteriously hidden at the same time. We are walking on the land and in the sky at the same time!

I love this poem by Edward Storey, which manages to convey the ephemeral magic of fog. Those last two lines! "While in the village, children sleep/never to know they slept in sky". How gorgeously magical!

Winter Blessings and Beauties

Walking on the Land, Walking in the Sky

On the next foggy or misty day, try to get out for a walk to experience and fully appreciate the unique magic of the phenomenon. Imagine the new boundaries set by the fog are permanent. What would the word be like then? Try to hold the paradoxes and contradictions of fog in your mind. Know that you are walking in the sky at the same time you are walking on the land. Feel the blessings of earth, air and water surrounding you. 

    

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 22: Camera Challenge

I took this picture a couple of days ago when I'd gone out to photograph some ivy for yesterday's 'Winter Blessings and Beauties'. It was not a very promising day for photography, wet and grey - and the afternoon light was fading fast. But on my way back to the house after photographing the ivy, my eye was caught by raindrops hanging on the twigs of the hedge. Looking through the viewfinder and adjusting the focal length I spotted this last, lone coppery leaf, its soft curving lines contrasting with the stark bare twigs, the hanging raindrops bright against the greyness of the day. A small, perfect tableau.  

This is one of the things I find about taking photos for the blog - knowing that I'm going to want something to illustrate the posts means that I am always looking out for suitable images. And the wonderful thing about that is that the more I look, the more beauty I see in the world around me. This photograph is a case in point - normally on a cold, rainy afternoon I would probably have my head down, not really seeing my surroundings, concentrating instead on getting back into the house as quickly as possible. But when I'm in 'photographer' mode, I see the world quite differently. I am looking for the beauty, and so I see it. It's always there, it's the state of mind I am in that allows me to see it - or not.

Famously, Dion Fortune said that "Magick is the art of causing changes in consciousness in conformity with the Will." By changing my focus when I am out with my camera, I am changing my consciousness, seeing things that I would otherwise overlook. More interestingly, when I see them my consciousness changes further. My experience of the world is deepened and enriched and my relationship with the world changes when I see all the beauty it contains. Engaging with the beauty of the world forges an emotional connection to it. As that connection grows and blossoms, the world becomes sacred. 

In winter it can seem more of a challenge to find beauty - the landscape is experienced in harsher weather and without foliage and flowers to soften it. But beauty is always there to be found, if we just remember to look. 

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 22

Camera Challenge

Take your camera, or use your phone to go out and look for winter beauty to photograph. Look for large-scale beauty - landscapes, seascapes, skyscapes, sunsets. Look for small-scale beauty - a seedpod, a spiderweb, a mossy rock. Look for interesting wildlife - birds, squirrels, foxes, deer. Look for human beauty - a child's smile, a warm hug, the grace of a skateboarder.

Then... look for winter beauty even when you DON'T have your camera to hand. It's everywhere. Enjoy it.              

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 15: Turn It Around

'Winter Blessings and Beauties' is now on day 15! I can't believe I've been disciplined enough to manage to post every day so far - I hope to be able to continue all the way through to Imbolc. An interesting side-benefit for me is that I have been engaging far more mindfully with Winter than I normally do, and I'm feeling quite positively towards the season as a result. How is the experiment working for you up to now? 

It's not that I expect to be full of the joys of Winter from beginning to end - I really dislike the kind of fake positivity that would require. But I am hoping to be more aware and appreciative of the positive aspects of the season, and so far that seems to be the case.

But if appreciating Winter still feels like a bit of an uphill struggle how about this - give a bit of thought to the things which seeing as it's winter, you don't have to worry about. Things like... wasps. Sunburn. Mosquito bites. Hay-fever. Mowing the lawn. You get the picture! Once you start making a list it's quite surprising how many burdens are lifted by the presence of Winter.

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 15

Turn it Around

Instead of pining for the things you miss about the summer, try making a list of the things you don't miss at all! What made you uncomfortable? What was inconvenient or difficult? What extra expenses were incurred? What extra chores were necessary? Think about how grateful you are for not having to waste any time or energy on any of these things during Winter! 

 

Paying It Forward: Tale of a Pigeon

I was locking the door when it happened. Leaving work, turning the key in the lock when I heard a flutter behind me. I thought something had fallen from my bag and turned to see what I had dropped. To my surprise a small pigeon stood there looking up at me, head cocked, eyes bright. 

I finished locking the door and stepped gently back, not wanting to frighten the bird who I assumed had not seen me standing in the alcove when she'd flown down. Un-phased by my movement towards her she watched as I pulled the wrought iron gates closed and secured the padlocks. I was expecting her to fly off at any moment, but still she calmly watched me, seemingly completely unafraid. There are always pigeons here in the Square, but normally they keep a safe distance from the humans with whom they share the town centre. I began to wonder if she was perhaps a lost and exhausted racing pigeon, or maybe injured in some way. Carefully I knelt down and slowly extended a hand. She didn't flinch, just watched me calmly, expectantly.

Gently, I stroked the soft grey feathers of her back. She accepted the gesture and didn't attempt to escape. Now I was sure something was wrong, and I wondered what I could do. The daylight was fading and I didn't want to leave her like this, vulnerable and alone. I reasoned that if she was a racing pigeon perhaps she was hungry and expecting that a human would feed her. I don't usually have food with me, in fact I normally do my grocery shopping after work. But, that day as luck would have it, I just happened to have some left over cake in a box in my bag. I have a favourite tea shop where I usually buy myself a takeaway coffee and sometimes some lunch or a piece of cake on the days when I'm working in town. The owners and staff have become good friends and have helped me out on numerous occasions - such as the time the padlocks on the gate seized up so that I couldn't get into work, and they came to the rescue with a tin of WD40 (for the locks) and a much needed cup of coffee (for me). That very afternoon, they just happened to have gifted me with a complementary coffee - and a slice of cake. It was lemon drizzle cake - my favourite! - but I had exercised will-power (an unusual occurrence) and only eaten half the slice, planning to eat the rest for dessert that evening. 

I broke off a small corner of the cake and put it on the ground in front of her to see what she would do. She gobbled it up quickly and looked up for more. I broke off more, and then more pieces which she consumed eagerly. I mourned the loss of my cake but reasoned that her need was greater than mine. Eventually she had the whole thing, and I waited while she ate her fill. I still didn't know if she was injured, and I know how cruel some people can be to pigeons - or any vulnerable creature - so I didn't want to leave her alone until I knew she was OK.

When she was finally sated I slowly reached out a hand again. I couldn't see a ring on her legs, so I assumed she wasn't a racing pigeon after all. Her reluctance to fly away when I approached her therefore suggested she was probably injured. If she would still let me touch her, I decided, I would pick her up and take her home and keep her safe overnight before getting her checked over by a vet the next day. She still seemed unafraid, but this time she neatly side-stepped every attempt to actually touch her. Now I was in a bind. I was still loathe to leave her alone and defenceless, but if I couldn't pick her up I wouldn't be able to move her to a place of safety. 

For about five minutes we stood there side by side, strange companions on the emptying streets. I was wondering what on earth I was going to do. The light was fading fast and the streetlights began to come on. I was already late, but how could I leave an injured bird? And then, without warning, she suddenly took off in graceful flight, clearly not injured at all. She circled once round my head as if in farewell and was gone, off into the sky. I watched her disappear behind the rooftops, hugely relieved that she was OK. She must have been extremely hungry to beg me for food and let me touch her the way she had, but the cake had given her the energy she needed to keep her safe for now.

It was a strange encounter. It was strange that on that day, I happened to have the wherewithal to help when I met a creature in need. It was strange that she fell out of the sky at my feet at that very moment, when a few minutes later I would have been away down the street on my way home. Something about the encounter seemed magical and meaningful. I still remember the softness of her feathers and the trust in her eyes. I feel blessed by circumstance and serendipity. 

On the next working day, as I arrived back in the Square a crow flew down. Watching me closely but keeping a wary distance, he made eye contact and cawed loudly several times, then made a kind of nod of his head before flying off. Call me crazy, but I felt like I was being thanked on behalf of the town birds. 

Thanks to a kind and unexpected gift, I was able to help a hungry bird and felt blessed by the opportunity to do so. It's a paradox, but it's true: in giving, we receive. May we all have cake in our bag to offer when it's needed! Pay it forward people, pay it forward.

Blackberry Daydreams

 

It seems to be a good year for blackberries - or perhaps it's just because my workload has lessened dramatically due to the pandemic and I have the unaccustomed luxury of enough time to wander, harvesting the hedgerows.

The September air is cool, with still a touch of warmth when the sun breaks through. Abundant clusters of blackberries hang among the tangle of brambles. I push my way in, thorns snagging my clothes and hair. Delicately I pluck the tender berries and the pile in my basket grows rapidly. Despite my care, my fingers are soon stained with purple juice, and my arms and hands scratched. 

The blackberries look to me like tiny jewelled ornaments, each tiny drupelet like a shining bead of jet or onyx. They are a treasure, an abundant late-summer gift of delicious fruit that can be enjoyed in the moment or harvested and transformed into preserves to bring a taste of summer in the depths of winter. Across the valley the jays screech in the oaks as they harvest and stash their own winter treasure trove of acorns. The jays and I, preparing for the unknown times ahead, gratefully gather the plenty that is offered us. We know that nothing is certain.

As we take, we give too. We help the blackberries and oaks by dispersing their seeds. Jays (along with squirrels) are actually responsible for planting the vast majority of oak trees. They bury acorns to keep as a winter food source - and acorns need to be covered with soil to germinate. A single jay can collect up to 5,000 acorns so it's inevitable that some of their haul will remain buried and later sprout into new trees. Likewise, the seeds of consumed blackberries pass unharmed through the digestive tracts of birds, animals and humans and are distributed when they re-emerge at the end of the process! The blackberries, the jays, the oak trees, remind me that we are all part of the intricately woven and interconnected web of life.

My basket is almost full but still I comb the thicket for more treasure, peering up and down, side to side. It's amazing how a small change in the way I look at the brambles suddenly reveals new, previously hidden berries hanging in ripe clusters. What a good reminder of the importance of trying to see things from all sides and being flexible!

I pop berries in my mouth, enjoying the sweet, tangy juices - and I throw some to the eager chickens too. That's another important thing to remember - when you have plenty - share it! The blackberries give generously and it is good to follow their example. 

At last, I head back to the house. The sun, now low in the sky, slants golden light across the fields and I take a few moments to sit on the bench that overlooks the valley and watch the rooks circling their rookery in preparation for the oncoming night. Tawny owls call to each other. The air smells of the berry juice on my fingers, the spearmint next to the bench that I brushed past, and woodsmoke from a neighbour's bonfire. My hands are scratched and my hair is dishevelled but I have a basket full of ripe blackberries and the jays have their acorns. We are blessed, and we know it. 

Counting My Blessings

A day bright with birdsong and apple blossom. Scatters of mayflies drift dreamily across the sunlit valley. The bluebells are in their full glory - but in lockdown I can't make my usual sacred pilgrimage to them. They call to me, and I'm sad that I can't go and immerse myself in their beauty. 

Yet I am grateful too. There is so much for which to be grateful. That I live in a world of marvels like bluebells and swallows and apple blossom. That I am here in this beautiful place to experience another spring. That even in lockdown I can walk down the lane taking eggs to Mair (I leave them in the mailbox at the end of her driveway, she leaves an empty eggbox with payment inside for me to collect), and commune with the hedgerow flowers - including bluebells. The scent of appleblossom wafts by and the swallows joyfully chatter overhead. I am blessed.