Hello, Beautiful Souls. I am humbled to meet again. We gather in early morning as the Spring air flows and Summers footsteps are just behind…
The wind has returned.
It ruffles my hair and touches my face with cold, lingering fingers as I walk across the ancient footpath that crosses the old churchyard. I am wearing a thick jumper, a light jacket, soft walking boots and a woolly hat. They are in-between clothes, for these early mornings are a quiet cross-over time when the last of the cold Spring air lingers before early summer emerges with a blaze of soft warmth, bright light and tumbling flowers, as if she overslept and is late to arrive.
I pause before I reach the old church gate and listen to what I can hear beyond the wind. Lambs bleat in the distance, geese call as they fly overhead and the Blackbird, a constant during this seasonal time, sings from his perch high upon the old fir tree that sways backwards and forwards as the wind plays, laughs and tussles. The blackbird clings on, his song carrying over the church steeple, far, far away, down into the valley where the river joins his soulful notes with her soft, ever-flowing song of times long gone and of hearts lost and won.
As I pause a moment longer, I hear a rustling from the undergrowth. Silently and slowly a Muntjac deer tiptoes out, nose to ground as he senses the earth, the land, the morning dew. I wonder what it must be like to have not two, but four feet grounded into the earth, to feel the heartbeat of the earth herself, to listen rather than speak, to sense rather than shout. The Muntjac suddenly turns, and I find myself looking at beautiful, brown eyes, eyes that sing of the earth’s beauty, of cycles of grief, sadness and renewal. The deer breaks the gaze and silently disappears back into the trees, to places hidden and unknown.
He leaves behind a soft energy, like a whisper on the breeze.
Continuing through the gate, I notice how the last of the Bluebells are fading, how the wild Garlic flowers are retreating once more into the soil. Their time to bloom has passed, their fleeting purpose over for another cycle, another turn of the year, it is as if saying goodbye to old friends, knowing when we meet again, we will not be the same. The earth renews, but it never stays the same. The constant and the change live as one.
I close the gate softly, turning my back to the wind, and feel a gentle warmth on my face as the sun rises for a new cycle, a new day.
Thank you for taking this gentle rest with me. I am humbled you have joined me.
If you would like to travel alongside for longer you are warmly invited to subscribe to receive my weekly free Nature’s Seasonal Letters. I would be honoured to walk this path with you.
Sending seasonal warmth to you all
Clare
Gorgeous words 🩵
Beautiful photos Clare :)