Here we are,
the sea pilgrims.
Not many of us tonight.
A grey damp evening,
dark before its time.
Unexpected flashes of white;
egrets flapping homewards
across clouds full of rain.
Thunder rumbles in the distance.
Water mirrors grey
and turns it into silver,
alchemy before our eyes.
An infinite supply of treasure
for a sea pilgrim.
We leave the shore,
The light darkens,
but inside us the sea shines silver,
and fills our souls with light.
A robin hops around the lawn
scooping up insects disturbed by
the recent passing of a lawnmower.
Not wanting to interrupt his feast
with tai chi,
I sit on a nearby bench
My practise becomes
scold the approaching darkness.
‘Isn’t this hot weather amazing’ I say.
‘We will pay for it later’ you reply,
as if nothing good can happen
without a bill being presented.
means suffering ahead.
But what about all the storms
we’ve already weathered?
Don’t they count,
like money in the bank?
I am taking this hot summer,
banking little pieces of
happiness, scents and sounds.
Memories to unfold later,
to be viewed through the glasses of age,
rose tinted or otherwise.
I will save up some of these rays
and let them warm my future self.
I will not live my life in debt,
with good times bought on credit.
Instead I will believe
that I deserve happiness now.
Getting close to nature.
Evening tai chi practice
interrupted by a hedgehog.
11pm in the garden,
the air like velvet on my bare arms,
A soft breeze caresses the leaves.
Two owls squabble
under an orange moon
as I savour the silky night.
Nights like this belong to other places.
Reluctantly I return indoors.
The owls sing me to sleep.
At a conference,
head bursting with ideas.
Talks about nature and wellbeing,
the benefit of mindful ‘forest bathing’,
the importance of nature connections.
dried up by windowless rooms,
and too many strangers.
Break time and I escape
into a bookshop.
Funny how I always end up in one of these
when the urban world becomes too much.
My shoulders drop as I cross the threshold,
calm among wood
pulped and pressed into pages,
the ghosts of trees.
A forest of paper and words,
I feel at home
I don’t read them, just soak in the cathedral-like atmosphere
and refrain from buying another expensive notebook.
I feel the benefit of a kind of forest bathing,
a tenuous connection to nature
until I can get back to the real thing.
Evening in the garden
Surrounded by a symphony of blackbirds
Liquid songs pouring into my ears
As the sun sets