Amazing Grace

Tomorrow is my 15th wedding anniversary, it's also the summer solstice, otherwise known as midsummer or Litha, and a fortnight since my dad died.  At the same time as my world has momentarily fallen off it's axis, the Earth is continuing to spin on hers as we reach the mid point on our journey around the sun. 

The past two weeks have coincided with a heatwave, the main implication of which is that I have had to walk the dogs early, very early, 5am early which, as I struggle to find time later in the day for any form of siesta, is adding to my feelings of numbness and slightly zombified state - a sort of suspended reality which helps keep the feelings of overwhelm at bay, but apparently does little to help a writer mid afternoon.  They have also become without a question of a doubt my favourite part of the day.  

I love the solitude, the light, the cooler air, and the opportunity to spot some of the more elusive creatures that share the land with me: a fox; the owl; and (as yet) no deer. It has given me the drive to get up and out, a woman on a mission, and no more so than when my friend (and Park Ranger) mentions that the 'yellow rattle' is looking resplendent in the wild flower meadow.

I don't know when admitting to ignorance became a flaw, the simple words of 'Oh I don't know what that is, please can you enlighten me?' instead being replaced with a thumbs up emoji, like 'Oh yes! Isn't it just?!'

Determined to cover myself, I set off the next morning with every intention of going to the meadow, photographing said plant and smugly posting on Instagram, the picture for my current 30 day 'Acknowledging the Land' project neatly taken care of. Except I can't find it, despite the map I've been sent with dropped pin, I head off to where I think the meadow is and scan the horizon for yellow.  Nothing.  

A day or so later, and bingo! Excitedly I send a picture to Drew... 'Err, that would be meadow vetchling' 'Oh!' A day later still and accompanied by some photographs for ease of identification, directions to a different part of the park and two very confused dogs, I walk up and down the same path over and over and yet, I am still without sighting.  Oh well, it'll have to wait until I've to time to accompany the main man, who by this time has kindly offered to take me on a tour of the park I thought I knew.

Last night I had the privilege to sit with friends acknowledging the upcoming solstice.  Admitting to them that I'd found preparing for the gathering hard with all else that was going on, but to cancel felt like the anthesis of what trying to live by the Wheel of the Year is teaching me - in that it keeps turning, irrespective of personal circumstances, and that stepping outside myself to connect with the living world around me, before the season passes, is what helps ground me and give my life an altogether different rhythm.

This morning I am a little later to the park, still early by previous standards, but too late to be distracted by sightings of owls and foxes, and, as is part of my routine, went to visit my tree.  I'm sure I've mentioned her before, an oak I visit most days who recently has been surrounded by waist high daisies, a magnificent sight at the best of times, an especially lovely one for a daisy lover.   Now flattened by the rains that broke the heatwave a couple of days ago, my eyes were drawn downwards and there, like the keys you can't find for looking, was the plant I had spent so long searching for.  No longer yellow, but turned to seed, I can't help but wonder how long I have been walking past it, oblivious, too caught up in the chase, the bigger picture, the must have photograph, the overwhelming envelope of sadness, to slow down and actually see.

Then, like so often happens, once spotted it's everywhere! It's on the other side of the path within 2 metres of the aforementioned meadow vetchling, it's at the very base of my tree, and (like he knew what he was doing) exactly where the pin was dropped on the map. I am amazed and, with the sound of bagpipes playing in my ears, can't help but feel like a blinded woman given sight.

Tomorrow I will rise even earlier to go with friends to watch the sunrise.  To celebrate the longest day, and turning of the year.  To give thanks for the spring and rejoice at the summer as we start to head towards the harvest of autumn, and the quiet of winter.  A day of fulfilment, of gratitude for the abundance brought by the sun, of love for my friends and family, and an extra special day to share with my beloved Mr L.  A day to give thanks for the good life of my dad, whose absence may be keenly felt, but who shall be thought of often and especially in the run up to the solstice, when that which I missed this year will be a blanket of yellow flowers at my feet.