gorse yellowing – and hearts are quickening as signs of Spring gladden them
Happy February. What happened to January? Time flies. What a joy to think that Spring lies just around the corner. That lovely old-fashioned word ‘quickening’ walked with me this afternoon – a ‘coming to aliveness’ – and I marvel that this becoming is so, for all of us. Winter may freeze time one day and fly on another, but it doesn’t last forever. Spring springs, and having learned some valuable lessons for the future of our world along the way, we’ll be glad to vote for it …
At midnight the wind was biting and the Lakeland sky black. Then there arose within a murmuring assembly an inner warmth and childlike delight in darkness illuminated by moments, flares, sparks of light, loudly announcing their presence. Until the wind blew over each, ‘and it was gone.’
May all of life beneath the wide firmament be vivified in 2026 by such a warmth, such delight, and innumerable moments of clarifying light. Moments both come and go, ever so fleetingly – and it’s in their very transience that each of us grows.
May we gently use the gift of words, then – in every language under the sun – to tell of such moments, and to learn from, and re-member them. May we humans become ever more the poets, the co-creators, of well-lived lives, for alllife …
Asked about ‘the meaning of life,’ Jimmy Carr responded with a five word answer: ‘Enjoying the passage of time.’
Now, in ‘the in-between times,’ the liminal spaces in my days and nights, I’m asking myself ‘what have I been enjoying; what am I enjoying; and what do I hope to enjoy?’
For a decade or more, in common with many, my chest has protested the arrival of winter’s cold. The rest of me protests that, cold notwithstanding, a decent walk is still a good idea. So I wrapped up well!
Home now, mug of steaming hot chocolate in hand, I review the quickly snapped photos of my ambling – and thankfulness wells up within me. This life, this world, this love, this Edinburgh – are amazing! And I remember a line from a hymn learned in primary school
He gave us eyes to see them, and lips that we might tell …
An evening in quiet candlelight tonight, mindful of ‘the saints’ – and of the sadnesses and gladnesses, the needs and the delights of humankind the world over.
And – having visited Gdańsk, Gdynia and Kraków in the past twelve months – a part of my heart is with friends in Poland tonight as I think of them celebrating All Saints-tide. Warm remembrance for them – the thousands of lighted candles in their burial places bringing to mind not so much death as life – the continuing lives of those who live on in the hearts of humankind here in this temporal world.
How grateful I am for my daily sense of our global connectedness. How mindful I am of our need to sit quietly sometimes to bring to mind and heart the gentle light that is at the core of every human presence, albeit sometimes well hidden.
Am I too pre-occupied to light a candle, with my iPad in my lap? Shall I be distracted? Or maybe take a nap? Ah, but I recall the last time a single candle stilled my mind: so, yes, I’ll light one, and sit with it and all the saints – connected, all of us, with a global humankind
Sometimes a gentle light surprises in the quiet of the night.
To pray you open your whole self To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon To one whole voice that is you. And know there is more That you can’t see, can’t hear; Can’t know except in moments Steadily growing, and in languages That aren’t always sound but other Circles of motion. Like eagle that Sunday morning Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky In wind, swept our hearts clean With sacred wings. We see you, see ourselves and know That we must take the utmost care And kindness in all things. Breathe in, knowing we are made of All this, and breathe, knowing We are truly blessed because we Were born, and die soon within a True circle of motion, Like eagle rounding out the morning Inside us. We pray that it will be done In beauty. In beauty.
Neuroscience shows awe slows down your perception of time. When you witness something vast – stars, mountains, or oceans – your brain expands the moment, stretching seconds into memory. That’s why awe makes life feel longer, richer, and more meaningful. It literally bends how you experience existence
I concur. Here in the wide green spaces of Holyrood, beneath a volcano that last erupted more than 40 million years ago, I know daily experience of awe. It calls out my soul to encounter the very Universe in which I am placed, the love that sustains me, and the greatness of the gift of life in me and in all things. Yes: awe expands my perception of time, and of love.
.
(There’s a Piper in the doorway of St Anthony’s Chapel here, and the haunting melody of his music is echoing around Holyrood Park)
Early … and oh, so calm and quiet – my soul, and the loch.
I’ve been watching a heron for a quarter hour or more. And I think he / she has been watching me.
And then on towards mid-morning. Hot, dry and very out of puff after the climb up to St Anthony’s Chapel but, all year round, the view is always worth it. And above the sound of my heart’s pounding I hear ‘rest awhile’ – and I do. Then it’s time to wend my way down towards breakfast …
It has been a hot and sticky day in Edinburgh – but the humidity made for some beautiful misty views across the Firth of Forth to Fife this morning – and a modest degree of satisfaction about having hiked up to the top of Salisbury Crags – a healthy contribution to today’s 17,500 steps …
