delicate snowdrops
might blush if they knew of how
humans love them so
Tag: nature
The comfort of raindrops
Tonight’s quietness has been punctuated by the steady beat of raindrops on my balcony here in Holyrood. I wonder why I find this sound such a comfort – and am reminded that raindrops are among the constants in our lives. And so, in the course of an evening, I have returned to similar experiences from childhood right up to the present day. Each has something in common: the warmth and calm of being sheltered, indoors, at home, lulled towards peace by some of the gentler sounds of nature – which present peace makes me all the more mindful of Lori in Florida and all who are dealing with the aftermath of a fiercer expression of nature’s power. Hugs, Lori.
Back to nature
Home for the weekend. A Scottish bothy set in acres of silence – save for curlews, a fast flowing burn and wind in the trees. No mains electricity, no plumbed water, no flushing loo, no phone or wi-fi – but very quickly to become a home filled with deep connection, wonderful conversation, fabulous food, firelight, love, laughter and song …
Close-up
To get close-up to Springtime unfolding in nature is to encounter experience of awe and wonder. Every tiny hair and stem and vibrating atom invites me to deep contemplation: why such beauty? Why such variety? Why me, and this capacity that I have, and you have, to experience our environment in such deeply affecting ways? And my sense of gratitude, my awareness and observation, my being here, reaching out and reaching in – is something akin to love …
Sunday
Above the storm Sheer through the storm into the sun the plane Shot, streaming silver from its wings; And he who'd won through volleys of blind rain And baffling smother of dense cloud To heights of rare And eager air, Keen-edged as icy wine, Where only man's heart sings In the celestial hyaline, Where only man's heart sings, adoring, Beyond the range even of the eagle's soaring - He, who braved the tempest's rage and roaring, Sang out above the loud Propeller's whirring As in the crystal light Above the cursed white Of billowy snows He rose Even to his own heart's height; And happily in flashing flight He soared and swooped And zoomed and looped With ease unerring Through the unsearchable inane In dizzy circles of insane And death-defying insolence Of youth's delight Above the sunny dense And seething cloud whereunder Still rolled the thunder Over an earth already drowned in night. He soared and swooped again, Exulting in the flawless enginery Of hand and brain That, even in the heady urgency And wildest flight Of his insatiable soul, Obeying his intrepid will, Still kept serene control Of his frail plane That hung Ever on peril's edge and swung In thin and scarce-sustaining air As by a single hair, When one missed heart-beat or untaken breath Might lunge him in a fiery plunge to death. And still in aerial ecstasy, A flittering midge in the infinity Of heaven, he revelled till the light Drained even from that celestial height, And through the icy beryl of the night Star after star dawned silverly. Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, 1878-1962 of Hexham, Northumberland
Another startlingly beautiful Autumn morning walk during which Wilfrid Gibson’s ‘Above the Storm’ has echoed in me. A friend, at the village’s Remembering, later, said: ‘and so to the turning of the year.’ And it is heartening, touching, to see youngest and oldest standing, contemplating, remembering here. Yes, in so many more ways than one, ‘the turning of the year.’
And Nature, in this turning, calms and steadies both our remembering and our hoping. Walking homewards each morning I marvel at the bedrock of the Pennine Ridge – the ‘spine’ of the United Kingdom. Sometimes warmed by illuminating sunlight, sometimes dark and brooding; today, it seems – like cosseted, dust-covered furniture in a stately home – softly covered with a duvet of fluffy cloud – sustaining, watering and warming. Yes, ‘he rose / Even to his own heart’s height.‘
And remembering, and hoping, is thankful.
Speaking for themselves
Sometimes life’s festivals just speak for themselves
Proportion
sometimes the tiny
gifts of nature help create
huge transformations183
Nature’s industry
to wonder about
the life’s work of butterflies
is to know deep peace130
Gratitude
Ice design
I repeat myself
I know – but am in awe of
art’s design in iceSRM – MM Haiku 82 Day 112