1.9.17

Nesting Amongst the Wildflowers



Now comes the month of proud sparrows singing a warding spell to protect their nests in eaves and blossoming trees. Now too the month of violets. I grow them in pots in my kitchen so I can put the flowers in salads, on puddings or cakes, and between the leaves of books. (Have you ever pressed flowers within library books? And left poems on tiny pieces of paper between their chapters? I think that is something the army of the kind might do. Small, gentle guerilla acts to make the world ever so slightly lovelier.)

Yesterday, I sat on my doorstep with a book and a cup of tea. I had to wear my sunhat, the sky was so bright. All around me bees and white butterflies enjoyed the flowers of the garden. (Not enough flowers - I need to add more, always more.) The pride of the garden is a lush rosemary bush, for which I've named this house Rosemary Cottage; it sustains many winged populations all through the year. I would love to have roses too, but my landlady doesn't like them. Imagine not liking roses.




It felt so peaceful to sit out there. It felt in some ways essential. There is healing in the warm, wing-stroked air. Just as there is in the rain. I believe we need both wild and shelter, and I fear our society has tipped the balance too far towards shelter, and there may be no righting it. Everywhere I look, tower blocks of apartments are rising. Will one day our experience of nature be no more than pictures on a screen in our living room?

When I see all the dystopian novels that depict people scrounging for an existence in nature bereft of human civilisation, I think they have it backwards. The likeliest dystopia is surely humans crammed inside air- and temperature-controlled buildings, safe from the nature they have ruined with their disdain - a dystopia many are already living.

So I grow little flowers, although it is poor compensation for the trees my neighbours keep felling, and I long for unkempt meadows, even as I clean and tidy my little cottage. Here at the turning point of the year, I am reminded deeply, by rain and by sunlit gardens, of the importance of balance.


5 comments:

  1. Oh, my sweet friend, what a beautiful, peaceful picture you paint. I can just see the sun shining brightly while the bees and butterflies flit around your garden. What a lovely time of year for you :)

    Visiting with you always does my heart good. Thank you for your gentle and kind ways. Hugs to you!

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  2. oh heavens, a landady who doesn't like roses?! does. not compute.

    you're likely right about the dystopian trajectory... and ugh.

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  3. She doesn't like roses?? Immediately, I jump to a tragic scenario to give rise to this anomaly... A beloved fiance lost in the war who always brought her a single rose; a wicked aunt, called Rose, who beat her when she was a child; she cut her finger on a rose thorn, contracted septicaemia and almost died...
    What other explanation could there be??

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  4. Thank you all for your lovely comments. I am a little under the weather today so can't answer each individually but loved to read them :)

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MY BOOKS

In the quiet hours, the inbetween moments and the half-light, I sometimes like to write. My books are made from fairytale shadow and old magical songs. They speak about dreams, lost wishes, longing for something beyond the self, and always about love. You can learn about them here.

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