When the Blackbird Called

Remembering a Slower Way of Being

Hello Beautiful Souls, as we tread towards midsummer, there is moss beneath our feet. There are blackbirds in the hedgerow. There is no need to hurry.

Late evening in June.

I am sitting on a wooden bench with a soft throw over my knees and a final cup of tea to end the day.

The light is fading and the Blackbird sends out his alarm call. When all else is quiet and settling for the night, the Blackbird’s call can be heard as sudden and urgent. It accompanies a swift movement, a flight across the disappearing light of the sun. A last call before the earth plunges into darkness and the shadows are no more.

Then all falls silent and the soft paws of the fox, the badger, and the silent glide of the owl are felt rather than seen.

I have travelled alongside the Blackbird’s call since stepping away from the fast road of noise, high expectations and modern-day life. The path I travel meanders alongside the fast road of contemporary life. Sometimes I must cross the bridge and return for a while, but my feet are always drawn back to the mossy, green path. A different, slower route filled with birds singing in spring and soft snowfall in winter. So, I can breathe fully, can feel the soft earth beneath my feet and the Blackbird’s morning song that carries me sleepily through the morning dawn.

It was not always this way.

I travelled the fast road of overwhelm, expectations, and voices speaking over one another for so long until one evening I heard the shrill call of the Blackbird and he seemed to be calling to me. As a child I ran barefoot through long grass, rode bareback on a pony, swam wild in the sea. I knew all the names of the birds, knew when the swallows would arrive and where the wild rabbits could be found. As an adult came long days filled with expectations and tiredness. The tiredness did not allow me to notice the Robin, to hear the Blackbird.

Until I stopped.

Until the main road of life became so fast, it left me behind and I found myself on the kerb, disconnected from all that rushed forward without me.

That evening, as the day folded in and dusk settled, the Blackbird’s call came and I began to remember. I turned away from the road that had left me behind and towards a path within the trees. It was mossy beneath my feet, and the sound of birdsong filled the air. Water ran alongside the path, a meandering river and a flash of a Kingfisher was seen through the trees.

The path wound ahead as far as I could see, twisting, turning, surrounded by nature’s soft healing and seasonal wisdom. I began to connect back to the seasons, to the soft turning of the earth and I began to see my time as precious. In the distance I could see others, others like me who were already on the path, they stepped lightly, loosely and seemed peaceful. Some travelled with others. Some, like me, were alone.

Finishing my tea, I quietly get up from the bench and notice the stars have arrived. All is silent now, the warmth of the day a hanging memory as I hear the hoot of an owl in the nearby churchyard. The darkness is absolute, but I feel the Blackbird near, his message hovering in the air.

I stand for a moment longer beneath the stars, feeling the warmth and peace of the night and as I gently turn away, I hear the river alongside the mossy green path singing upon the breeze.

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