A Lesson from Blackthorn

I love all the contrasts in this photo - white blackthorn blossom against black twigs, the softness of moss and sharpness of thorns, a muted palette of black/white/khaki with a bright splash of warmth and colour from the sun.

Blackthorn blossom is in full exuberant froth mode right now, brightening the hedges and thickets. It's strange in a way that a tree I experience as having a such a dark, Scorpionic energy to it can have such pretty, delicate flowers. Yet I've recently realised that this is part of blackthorn's magic. I've always associated blackthorn with protective, defensive magic (the ThriftWitch Home Protection Charm uses blackthorn). The thorns are so sharp and tough, it's used extensively as stock-proof hedging, and the hard wood was used to make shillelaghs (Irish fighting clubs) for self-defence. 

Just the other day, blackthorn taught me another lesson about self-defence. It was a lovely sunny afternoon and a thicket of flowering blackthorn was looking gorgeous. I decided it would make a great photograph. Yet somehow I couldn't find a good place from which to take the shot. From far away, the blossom lost impact through the camera lens. Closer to,obstacles in the way spoilt the composition. Finally I decided to clamber inside - no easy task, given those thorns - to get a shot of the mass of flowers against the blue sky. But once inside the thicket, the flowers became invisible against the brightness of the sky. No matter how I twisted and turned, I could not get a photograph of them. Frustrated, I climbed back out assuming I'd just picked a bad spot without flowers, but it was immediately clear that there was in fact an abundance of blossom - it just became invisible from inside the thicket.

And then I got it: blackthorn is the Queen of defensive magic. Hiding in plain sight is the very best kind of defensive magic, allowing the eyes of your enemies to pass straight over you, keeping you safe from harm with the minimum fuss and effort. 

What a wonderful reminder that we have many tools in our kit bag. Sometimes we need thorns, but sometimes it's much simpler than that. 

Are We There Yet?

This year - more than most - I find myself taking great interest in the start of Spring. For me, it's partly down to the 'Winter Blessings and Beauties' project, where over the course of three months I challenged myself to write a daily post on the positive aspects of Winter. The practice left me more acutely aware of the passing of the seasons and their specific characteristics (as well as feeling more kindly towards Winter!). But occurring as it did in the teeth of a global pandemic, last Winter was uniquely strange and challenging for everyone and I'm sure I'm far from alone in being particularly eager for Spring 2021 to arrive. 

The thing that is interesting me at the moment is - when does Spring actually arrive? By setting the duration of 'Winter Blessings and Beauties' from 1st November to 2nd February (the period between Samhain and Imbolc) I made a case for Spring beginning at Imbolc. In terms of imposing a structure for the seasons, I rather like the notion of Spring beginning at Imbolc, Summer at Beltane, Autumn at Lughnasadh and Winter at Samhain. But of course, none of the seasons begin or end neatly on a single date, however much we humans may like to declare that they do. As Wikipedia says, "There are various technical definitions of spring, but local usage of the term varies according to local climate, cultures and customs."

For example, 'meteorological spring' in the northern hemisphere runs from 1st March-30th May, but 'astronomical spring' runs from the spring equinox (around 20th March) to the summer solstice (around 21st June). In the southern hemisphere the dates would be 1st September-30th November (meteorological spring), or around 21st September-21st December (astronomical spring). The Gaelic Irish calendar counts the Spring season as February, March and April. In Sweden however, meteorologists don't define the onset of Spring as a fixed date, but instead count it as the first 7-day period during which average temperatures exceed 0°C. This of course means that Spring begins on different dates in different parts of the country - but I rather like this more nature-centred approach. 

For practical, planning-ahead purposes I suppose we need to have agreed upon dates on which we can reasonably expect conditions to reflect the change in seasons. But I like the idea of also having far more subjective dates alongside this where we can observe and listen to what the land and the weather is telling us.

This year I settled on Imbolc as the date on which the Wheel of the Year clicked over from Winter to Spring. And although on that date there were indeed signs of the coming Spring - snowdrops, catkins, birds beginning to prepare for the breeding season - it didn't much feel like Spring, especially when we had yet more snow. Even by 1st March - when daffodils, crocuses, primroses and celandines had joined the snowdrops and nest-building season was well under way - it didn't feel like Spring to me. It's hard to put into words, but each year at some point I sense a rising tide of energy coming from the land, literally pulsing through the earth - and then I experience a bone-deep certainty that Yes, spring is here!

That bone-deep certainty came yesterday. An unpromising day of gales and ceaseless rain blurring the hills - and yet I could feel that irrepressible pulse of life so clearly and strongly. Suddenly - overnight it seems - green leaf buds are breaking on the rosebush outside the door, and the honeysuckle in the hedge.

Here in West Wales at least it seems the seasons have finally turned and Spring has arrived. Hail and Welcome, Spring!

Fresh green chive shoots in the herb garden

 

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 92: From Falling Leaves to Buds and Shoots

 

The 'Winter Blessings and Beauties' project began at the beginning of November and will conclude on 2nd February, covering a period of 3 months/just over 13 weeks.

The changes in the Winter landscape aren't as eye-catching as those of Spring, Summer or even Autumn. The Winter palette is more muted, vegetation growth  slowed by low temperatures and short, dark days. And yet changes are happening all the same. When we look back to the beginning of this period when everything in the landscape seemed to be dying back or hibernating, it's a striking contrast to where we are now - though as I pointed out right back at the beginning of Winter, the buds of Spring were already formed. Gradually, as the weeks passed they've been slowly growing, fattening in preparation to burst into leaf when the conditions are right. The very first buds to open won't be leaf buds, though - they will be those containing the soft grey fur of pussy willow catkins. At the same time the tightly held hazel catkins will lengthen into golden tassels, shaking out their pollen in the wind. 

Meanwhile the first bulbs are rising out of the earth. Already there are snowdrops to be seen, and the sturdy green snouts of daffodils are pushing up through last year's leaf litter. I even spotted a solitary yellow daffodil flowering in a sheltered spot the other day. Only thirteen weeks since the world was dying back, it is again surging back into life and growth. The only constant in the Wheel of the Year is change - and I find that curiously comforting.

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 92

From Falling Leaves to Buds and Shoots

In only a few more weeks, the world will be greening again as Spring gets into her stride. Before then, bring in a few twigs from deciduous trees and shrubs in the garden and put them in a vase half-filled with water in a warm spot. Once they have been in the warmth of your home for a week or so their leaves will begin to open. Most deciduous species are suitable, but you are most likely to get good results from those which have well-developed, plump buds. I usually use a mixture of willows, hazels, forsythia and fruit tree twigs.

The vase of green leaves is a visual reminder of the change in seasons and can be seen as a kind of sympathetic magic to welcome back the Spirit of the Green.   

   

 

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 87: The Dance of the Changing Seasons

Have you noticed the way Winter is starting to retreat a little - then it comes roaring back in full force, only to recede again later? We seem to be at that stage in the season where Spring is waiting in the wings and Winter is giving consideration to when it will be time to retire for a well-earned rest.

For the last few days here, Winter has been in full force with a heavy fall of snow and sub-zero temperatures. But today a thaw has set in, and we are due a few days of mild weather before wintry conditions return at the weekend. Meanwhile, the first snowdrops are appearing and daffodils and other bulbs are poking up their green snouts from the frozen ground. In the hedge, catkins are preparing to fully unfurl so they can dance in the wind.

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 87

The Dance of the Changing Seasons

Notice the graceful to-and-fro dance of the seasons at this time of year. Each year the exact steps are different, and yet the dance is the same: a solemn shifting back and forth between Winter and Spring. One day one is dominant, the next day the other. And yet gradually the balance is shifting towards Spring. Can you feel it?

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 76: January in the Garden

Although January is often the coldest month, the lengthening hours of daylight post-Solstice mean that the garden is beginning to stir - just a little. As mentioned yesterday, snowdrops begin to appear, but they are not alone. Hellebores, winter pansies, winter aconite and bergenia may also be in bloom, along with winter-flowering shrubs like witchhazel, wintersweet and winter jasmine.

As yet there is not too much to be done in the garden, but there are a few things you can begin to sow in preparation for spring - it's most satisfying to feel you're getting a head start on the growing year.

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 76

January in the Garden

Here are some of the things you can sow or begin growing in January:

• Sow sweet peas
• Begin chitting first early potatoes
• Begin forcing rhubarb
• Plant bare root roses
• Sow winter salads under glass
• Sow hardy annual flowers like cornflowers and antirrhinum

If you only have indoor growing space, you can still sow winter salads in containers on a sunny windowsill, or plant amaryllis bulbs in pots on a warm windowsill for beautiful flowers in spring.

 

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Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 75: Snowdrops

Today I spotted the first snowdrop flowers that I've seen this year. It was only a small patch and the bells hadn't yet opened properly, but soon there will be swathes of their white flowers everywhere. Each year the snowdrops are one of the first sights signalling the change from Winter to Spring. The white drifts at the base of the hedgerows that once were snow transform imperceivably into flowers - it's a kind of magic. And when the pioneering snowdrops have bravely blazed a trail, other flowers - pussy willows and primroses, daffodils and celandines - will follow.

As Snowdrops herald the very beginning of spring, they have become a symbol of hope for better times ahead. As they usually bloom towards the end of January/beginning of February they're associated with Imbolc - and also its Christian counterpart Candlemas, which earned them the alternative name of Candlemas Bells. Other lovely old names for them include Dewdrops, Eve's Tear, February Fair-maids, Snowpiercer, White Bells and Mary's Tapers.

In the Language of Flowers Snowdrops symbolise chastity, consolation, hope and purity. A German legend tells that God asked the flowers of Earth to give colours to the snow. The flowers all refused, but the Snowdrop gladly offered the snow its colour. In return, the snowdrop got to bloom before the other flowers.    

Snowdrops aren't native to the British Isles. They were introduced from the Caucasus mountains by Italian monks in the 15^th or 16^th Century, later escaping into the wild where they have become naturalised. Growing to about 7-15cm tall, the bell-shaped flowers hang down to protect the pollen from harsh winter rains. As they flower so early, snowdrops don't rely on pollinators to reproduce, spreading instead via bulb division. However, they're visited by bees and other insects on particularly warm days, so in favourable conditions they can produce seed.

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 75

Snowdrops

Have you spotted any snowdrops flowering yet? Or are there other signs of spring where you live? Here daffodil leaves are pushing up from the soil and tiny catkins can be seen on the twigs of the hazel. 

Hedgerow Beauty

A few photos from my recent walk:

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.

Snarling Lions and Stinging Nettles

"If March comes in like a lion, it will go out like a lamb" - traditional weather prediction

March this year has definitely come in like a lion. With Storm Freya snarling outside, we are content to cwtch up at home today. Snug in my cosy sheepskin boots and an oversized slouchy jumper, I've been pottering around the house catching up on chores and making soup. Yes, it's definitely a soup kind of day - but it's not just the weather that inspired me. As spring arrives, so do the first new nettles of the year and soup is a great way to make use of them.

Nettles have a long association with people. The plants tend to prefer nitrogen-rich soils, so often thrive where human activities have enriched the soil. They appear in such folk tales as The Twelve Wild Swans, where the heroine has to make shirts from nettle fibres to release her brothers from an enchantment. The story reflects the fact that nettle fibres were often used to make a linen-like fabric in the past. They have long been an important food source, and to this day are a great free food for foragers, being a plentiful weed in most locations. They're also full of vitamins and minerals (including beta carotene, vitamin C, vitamin E, vitamin K, calcium, iron, phosphorus and potassium) and were traditionally eaten as a spring tonic. 

If you haven't cooked with nettles before, rest assured that cooking them completely removes their sting. You will need gloves to pick and prepare them though - I usually wear rubber gloves and use a pair of scissors. Choose nettles from a spot away from traffic, and concentrate on picking tender young tops as the stalks can be stringy. Rinse them thoroughly in cold water before use. Like spinach, they will reduce right down in volume once they're cooked.

If you fancy giving it a try, here's my nettle soup recipe:

Ingredients:

1 onion, finely chopped

2 potatoes cut into small dice

1 carrot, chopped

1 small leek, chopped (optional)

a colander-full of young nettle tops

vegetable stock

single cream 

1 tbspn olive oil

a knob of butter

fresh parsley, chopped

salt and black pepper to season

Method:

Gently fry the onion in the oil and butter until soft and translucent. Add the potatoes, carrot, nettles and leek if you're using it. Stir well and cover with the vegetable stock. Bring to the boil and then reduce to a simmer, stirring occasionally until the vegetables are tender. Add the parsley towards the end of cooking. Remove the soup from the heat and using a blender, reduce it to a smooth consistency. Check the seasoning and adjust if necessary, and swirl through the cream before serving.

Serve with crusty bread - enjoy! 

Faery-sighted

This morning the sun turned the hillside to magic, dew-shimmered gold. 

Clear, pale light stroked the smooth, bare limbs of trees; lengthened shadows in the secret hollows.

Celandines and windflowers smiled joy from the roadside.

A wren sang fierce beauty outside my window.

A lone first swallow swept overhead and away into possibility, leaving behind a splash of early bluebells. Soon a flood of them will pool the woodland floor, seep along the hedgerow.

Today I am faery-sighted, and my heart sings the song of the awakening earth.

Every Day, There Is Something New...

 

Every day there is something new. This morning, the first cowslips. Yesterday I heard the chatter of swallows for the first time this year (yes, they're back!). And before that, lady's smock, blackthorn blossom, the smell of newly-mown grass, magnolia flowers, a slow worm basking in the sun.

New, and yet familiar. Because I have seen all these things before, they are familiar. But they are new again each year as the seasons turn and the Earth and her beings cycle through life. What a miraculous paradox we live in - and how strange and yet natural that we should take it for granted. It is, after all, the reality we live in.

Thinking on this, I imagine the span of my life like the tightly coiled loops of a telephone cord (yes, the old-fashioned ones when telephones still had cords!). The spiral grows in length, but it coils round and around, coming back to almost the same spot yet NOT the same spot. Somewhere the same, yet a bit further on. Somewhere different, yet a place that can be recognised because the spiral has travelled this route before.

Sometimes the path of our lives is like this. We all have patterns of behaviour that repeat, and sometimes these cause us problems. And it can be so hard to see that it is our repeating patterns causing the difficulties in life. If the same problem in different guises keeps cropping up, it is worth examining it to see how you yourself may be contributing to the dynamic. Recently, I have ended more than one 'friendship' after realising that my role as a 'people pleaser' was enabling certain people to take advantage of me and that I needed to be more firm about my boundaries. My desire to please was leading me to say yes, whether I wanted to or not. It can be hard to make such changes, but it can be done - and we are all works in progress!

And so we continue on, spiralling around and further along. The spiral sometimes makes it hard to see how far we have come, yet look back along its length. Who were you 5 years ago, 10 years ago, 20 years ago? The same, yet different. Always growing, always changing, always revisiting what needs to be revisited, always finding a new way to travel the path.

Every day, there is something new...


        

Impatient

Spring is unfolding in every hedgerow. Suddenly there are celandines, raising bright shining faces to the sun. The fields are green, bees nuzzle honey from heather, and even the thorn-harsh thicket offers tender new leaves. 

I am watching, waiting for the first swallows, eager as a child is for Christmas. Surely they will come soon, and my heart will leap in welcome. It has been so long, a whole winter long of longing for spring. When they come, they will swoop in joy, and there will be apple blossom and bluebells and beech leaves, warm nights and long days. 

But for now I wait, and count every sign of spring, squirrelling them away like precious morsels to remind and reassure myself that soon the swallows will return, and summer in their wake.

On This Bright Spring Morning

On this bright spring morning I peg out the washing, the sun warm on my back though there's frost in the fields. I listen to the song of small birds, the contented chicken murmurs, the cry of lambs and the sound of distant church bells. I notice the fattening buds on the trees, the hazel catkins and the daffodils raising their faces to the sun. One of the cats rubs against my legs.

All's right with the world on this bright spring morning.

The Owls

 

The owls announced it first, twitting and quavering back and forth across the valley to each other. Engrossed in my task of chopping wood I hadn't even noticed, but they prompted me to look up and register the oncoming twilight.

The sun dropped behind the hill and daylight gradually drained away into the west. As I stacked the logs and put away the axe, I listened to the birds singing the sun to bed, the rooks gossiping as they settled in the rookery for the night, the owls greeting each other in the gloaming.

I listened intently to the sounds of oncoming night, smelled the woodsmoke on the breeze, watched the darkening sky.

As a last, tardy wren flitted to her roost, the stars appeared: first bright Venus following the sun, then more and more pinpoints of light like tiny guiding lanterns. Orion was completely visible by the time the birds finally fell silent.

I shut the chickens away and walked back to the house, the comforting glow of light in the porch beckoning me in.

Good hunting, owls.

Lessons From the Garden

It has always been a pleasure of mine to wander in the garden early in the morning: the new growth, the golden slant of morning light, the birdsong, the sparkle of dew or frost in the grass... Weather permitting I always used to spend at least half an hour out there after letting the chickens and geese out, checking progress or problems in the veggie patch and admiring the beauty of the garden in all weathers and seasons. That was when my main job was growing our food and minding the smallholding. Nowadays my changed circumstances mean I work outside the home and my once productive kitchen garden is reduced to a few perennial vegetables and soft fruit bushes that mostly mind themselves, a few potatoes in tyres, tomatoes in the greenhouse and one lone raised bed of salad leaves, radishes and Chinese vegetables (I am however intent in licking it back into better shape, which includes this year planting up a much improved herb garden).

But at weekends and on rare days like this when I have a little spare time it is still a pleasure to get out there and just soak up the sun and the sounds and sights and smells.

In May the garden and the surrounding countryside change on an almost daily basis - new leaves unfurl, change colour and opacity and shape, new flowers appear in sudden bursts of colour, the grass grows so fast you can almost see it. Birds that seemingly only yesterday were pairing up have somehow built nests, laid and hatched their brood and are busy feeding their hungry fledglings. Baby rabbits scamper in fields occupied by young lambs and calves. No wonder Beltane is such a powerfully life-affirming festival. The Earth at this time of year seems to positively hum with life-energy.

This morning as I wandered, everything I saw seemed to hold a message. A limp, uprooted feverfew plant I had rescued from a compost heap and re-potted has perked right up which probably means it's re-rooted successfully (where there's life there's hope - or perhaps, everything deserves a second chance). A strange shock of leaves right at the top of a hazel which is yet to come fully into leaf itself turned out to be a honeysuckle which by sheer force of will had managed to scramble about 15' all the way up through the hazel and right to the top (if you keep trying eventually you will find the light). A white butterfly paused in its dancing flight to sip from a blackthorn blossom (take time to enjoy the beauty that crosses your path). All these messages have resonance for me. Today I remind myself of hope and second chances, the power of persistence and the importance of pleasure.

My garden may be overgrown but it is beautiful, and so, so wise!

     

Holding On, Letting Go

Spring is so beautiful, I find myself wanting to hold on to every bit of it. The river meadow covered in celandine... The joyful return of the swallows... The frothing abundance of pink and white blossom... The bees bumbling round clustered cowslip bells... The faery scent of hawthorn on the evening breeze... The galaxy of starry windflowers twinkling in the dappled sunlight beneath trees... The intense vibrancy and tenderness of new leaves...

And yet it is the very ephemerality of spring that lies at the heart of its magic. It is the daily changes in the world around me that so enchant, the passing from winter to spring and on into summer, autumn and round again. Only in letting go do I receive...

Every spring I learn the same lessons anew. The power of new beginnings. The beauty of renewal. The joy and fragility and force of life. The importance of gratitude, and of letting go.


    

Today

Chopping wood in the sunshine while the kittens play tag.

Watching the chickens through the kitchen window while I wash the dishes, elbow deep in suds.

The smell of woodsmoke from the range, sweetened by the hyacinths on the windowsill.

Upstairs, the older cats sprawl in patches of sunlight on the bedspread.

Snowdrops and crocuses brighten the world. There is birdsong.

Water drips from the roof. It will rain again soon.

Time for another cup of Earl Grey. Then lunch. Then off to work.

Today is unique, yet full of the familiar. Today is a day like and unlike every other day. Today is the one and only today. Just like yesterday, and tomorrow, and all the days to come...