Mooring

The night I drove Emmy back to town, the moon loomed larger and redder than I've ever seen it.
She and her boyfriend Matthew are slowly but surely furnishing what was a small, empty attic room into cosy nursery. Tiny clothes are being carefully folded into drawers, her hand painted pictures cheer the walls and blankets both old and new drape the chairs.

Life moves, seasons change and we become more pliable, mutable and softer with their teaching.
Lines that were once etched in stone have been scribbled over with crayon and small mossy plants have started to take root in the cracks.

The next morning the sunlight is thin as whey.
The gangly hedgerow grasses fray.
The signs of their fading gleam gloriously in the wash.
The sky is a crisp, new canvas, poised and ready as a bird on the brink of flight.
And I have no profound words or deep insights to write, or camera at hand to capture the moment.
Just the gossamer fabric of silence which evaporates on touch.

The days are quiet. Just Boo and I.
With no fixed plans, we fill them with that which feels right and good.
I thought I'd fill these extra hours to their brim. Utilise, might be a better word.
I thought I'd utilise them, make them work for their keep and pay their rent. In other words, squeeze their freshness to dregs.  But isn't that what time is for, to be used efficiently and productively?
After all isn't this what I've always dreamt of; time in which to do the things I never get time for?
Modern life can feel a little as if you are in a boat with a leak that you constantly have to keep pailing out.
Money is a constant need as it is for everyone.
Yet keeping the water out through constant work and busyness can sometimes only mean another way of drowning.

Since my illness, I've not had the same quantities of energy that I had before. I've begun to re-evaluate the way my time is spent, literally.

Not every stillness is in want of movement. Not every silence needs to be filled with sound.

Pacing the day means that I can mindfully prepare meals and take care of the home, garden and animals without distraction or discord.
It means I can more readily carve out a peaceful and open space in which to gently welcome often tired and sometimes fractious children home from school.

I am working even if there's not too much to show for it.

In a product driven world, process, which is often hard to define, weigh and measure, can be easily rushed through, forgotten about or removed from the picture altogether.
Work which can't be compensated for in pounds and pence becomes devalued.
This doesn't mean however, that it is valueless work; an important distinction.

This afternoon we pruned the lavender bushes taking care not to break the delicate lacework of the spiders.
We preserved some more elderberries, read passages from books that we were reading in the garden and made each-other laugh.
I knitted some rows of Matilda's sweater and phoned my Dad.
I'm now going to leave early so I don't have to race down the country lanes as I pick up the girls from school.

When I feel the world biting at my heels I will go to my secret place. The one I have furnished with time spent and attention given. And I will trust as Lady Julian of Norwich said.
“All shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

 "Don't spend your energies on things that generate worry, anxiety and anguish. Only one thing is necessary: Lift up your spirit and love God."

 Padre Pio

 "But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well."
Matthew 6:33


"The Mind that is still, the whole universe surrenders."
Lao Tzu



Joining Tuesday Afternoon at Spirit of Simplicity
 Little Things Thursday
nature notes
Through my lens