Archive - 2010 - Words of Keeping

Yesterday was the solstice, the shortest day of the year.  It hid behind the tatters of snow and the fear of more.  It hid behind the focus on Christmas and the bustle to be ready.  Silently, mysteriously, we have now moved back from the brink and are inexorably heading into the light, although it still feels the same, although the cold still hugs us like a friend.
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The snow has come.  It is thick and bright, clothing the garden, trees and roads in quietness.  A gift of white, of pure essence, poured in whirling skies of wet kisses.  It transforms everything, makes the world its own, even gathering on thin twigs and coating the sides of trees.  Each bush has its own arrangement, its own sculpture.   read more »

It is cold and still, the air is damp and chilled.  It is dark in the garden, the sky a deep blue backdrop to the black branches.  The sun when it rises has found a different spot to bless with its favours, a new edge of earth to slowly stroke then climb from its shoulders. 
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There is such love abroad this morning.  We are soaking in silver, silver wisps of cloud, silver moon that has strayed into the day on a pale-blue, ice-blue sky.  The frost has charged every surface with moon dust so it sparkles silver back to the sky like a mirror.  But the sun that seems silver as it tastes the edge of the day shines a rosy gold everywhere it looks.   read more »

All is hushed.  The still air has turned to pearl, wrapping the distant roofs and trees in its haze.  The fog gives everything an ethereal quality, filling vistas with a fuzziness that looks warm like a cashmere blanket but that pecks at my cheeks with a damp chill.  We are living in thin cloud, muffled from urgency, a fairy land of muted light that shines with a pale intensity.   read more »

Here I am, alive in my beloved garden with my book and pen, my heart like a sponge soaked in sherry but ready for more.  I am witness to the morning, I have lain by its side as it slumbered and have now come to live in its light.  It rolls over me, the darkness is scattered through the garden, gathered in pockets under trees.  I can’t see the sun but the darkness is diluting,  read more »

Up at the dawn of the dawning, the yawning of the day.   It is a sallying forth to come down here as the mornings sharpen and darken.  The heat and light in the house hold me womb-like and the garden is strange territory.  But here I am, in commonality with the trees and leaves, in community.  We all sit with sleep in our systems, the warmth or cool of night in our blood,  read more »

Early morning and it is back to my winter coat as I sit at the bottom of the garden.  Everywhere is wet and shiny from last night’s rain but the day is dry until a squirrel runs overhead and dislodges a shower from the branches.  The sky looks grey but there is little cloud, just lack of sun.  The brightening edge to my left fills and spills as the sun lifts over the sinking rim of earth  read more »

The air is warm against my skin.  I love the nakedness of summer, I love the air on my skin so I am part of it, walking through nature open and transparent, not encased and armoured in layers of clothes.  I love the smell of skin when it’s been in the sun, I love feeling the breeze ripple the hairs on my arms.  Even the rain feels good like a caress.
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The summer has packets of weather that it deals out each day, packets of rain and sun, packets of fluffy white or thickening grey cloud, packets of wind.  It is like a conductor in an orchestra – now percussion, now strings, now brass.  We are the choir, accompanying it all with our umbrellas or sunscreen, our rushing or lingering, our moaning or rejoicing.  read more »