The valley has taken a battering over the last few days.
High winds and sudden torrential rain interspersed with bursts of late summer sunlight. And a dusting of fallen leaves.
Blackberries in various states of ripening. Some even on the same stem.
It has unsettled us all.
And this adding to the months of an alternative rhythm of life imbued with uncertainty.
But we’re still standing.
Amazing isn’t it?
We’ve had very few fallen trees and everything else, alpaca’s included, just seemed to pick themselves up, let the rain drip off and then carry on. Not necessarily with a spring in their step, but a sense of this is what we do when we are here.
And the same for us. Not a rush to the next thing or the excitement of the new, but a steady walk, stumbling at times.
Yes, a little weary. And certainly feeling older, and perhaps wiser.
This is a time to stand on the threshold and choose how we are going to walk forward. To pay attention to how we will be in this time and what we will feed ourselves—nourishing our inner lives.
I came across Gideon Heugh’s poem for the beginning of 2020 the other day and thought it worth spending time with again:
A prayer for 2020
May this be a year
in which we slow down,
pay close attention,
pause, breathe, be still.
May this be a year
in which we reconnect with nature,
use all of our senses
and re-tune our souls to wonder.
May this be a year
in which we are kinder
to the earth, to each other
and to ourselves.
May this be a year
in which we say no:
no to busyness, no to more stuff,
no to anger and hatred and despair.
May this be a year
in which we say yes:
yes to stargazing, yes to birdsong,
yes to hope and forgiveness and love.
May this be a year
in which our minds are open,
our arms wide,
our hearts full.
Most of us are still standing. Many are struggling to varying degrees, and a few dear ones have fallen.
This is a time to stand on the threshold and choose how we will go forward.
Remembering that this is together.