The Awakening

A Late February Dawn

Hello Beautiful Souls; as we gather at the dawn, let us turn away from Winter’s retreating footsteps and look towards the growing light.

A Late February morning at 6.30am

I had slept in.

Stirring, I felt rather than saw the translucent light from behind the curtains. The peace surrounding me felt different. Quieter and precious. As I opened my eyes a Robin began to sing, his sweet notes a beautiful melody for the start of my day. Reaching for my thick cardigan and warm socks, I remembered it was Sunday and the village slept like a gentle dawn.

Padding down to the kitchen, it was already light, a soft hovering over my courtyard garden, as if the dawn had tiptoed in through the gate whilst I slept, quietly, peacefully and unannounced.

Switching the kettle on I reached for my boots and slipping them on I opened the backdoor to walk into the garden to meet the new day, to say good morning to the earth. Although the light was soft and still, I was greeted by a chorus of birdsong; ecstatic and abundant, moving and beautiful. A show just for me, as others slept on.

Above the melancholy sound of the Blackbird and the exuberant notes of the Robin, there was a louder song that seemed to tower above the trees themselves, a song that seemed to carry over the nearby hill, towards the flowing river who would take the notes far away towards distant places I do not know. I gazed up and saw the Song Thrush; such a small bird, his silhouette perched on the nearby Pine. His song was a message; a promise of what is to come.

As I closed the door and reached for the kettle a word came to me, a word that the joyful birds, the warming earth and the morning dawn seemed to echo.

Awakening.

Like a spark turned into a flame, the earth herself is awakening and turning towards the sun.

Sipping my first cup of tea I reflect on my own Spring awakening and how this Winter has seen me cocooned under thick wool throws with a roaring fire as cold rain and icy wind claimed the land. Having caught a bad bout of flu I hibernated like a curled-up dormouse only emerging with layers of thick clothing, a person from any time or place and part of the ancient landscape as I walked my elderly dog over the churchyard to tend to my waiting hens.

During this Winter I have felt comfort in small, quiet sounds that are timeless and suggest to me a whisper of the past. Memories of peaceful, simpler times when keeping warm and waiting for Spring was normal and time passed through the gentle turning of the earth and the slow return of the light.

The old church clock chiming the hour, the owls’ quiet calls when I could not sleep. The flickering of a candle, the crackle of wood on the fire and the gentle snores of my faithful spaniel.

These daily sounds anchor us in the present; they become familiar and needed in a world that can be demanding and loud. As I look out of my kitchen window, I hear the migratory geese flying over my roof. A sound of old and one which transports me to how the land was before modern day life. Before the sound of traffic or machines. A time when stories were told around the fire and a comforting, ticking clock told the time.

Finishing my tea, I reach for my coat and closing the front door I walk through the iron church gate and into the sleeping ground of old headstones of bygone times. But where there are memories of the past, there are calls of the present and I look up to see the Song Thrush still on his spot, claiming his kingdom through the magic of his song.

Reaching the allotment gate, I pause and notice how the Snowdrops petals are wider, how they are loosening their grip. I notice how some have begun their journey of returning to the soil, their late Winter cycle waning now, their time nearly over. As I walk through the gate and hear the welcome sound of my hens, I notice a new life has emerged from the soil and a new cycle has begun.

I stop to welcome the yellow, wild Primrose.

And I sense on the early, morning breeze new life around me.

It is time to awaken.

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