My word for 2013 was light The weather was beautifully frosty in early 2013 Micky Mac's house was finally sold Australia proved to be a stunning part of the world Dreaming through the eyes of Australian animals Early morning web . . .
The beating of wings
It's usually early morning. A time when I am half asleep. A time when I am mulling over so many "important things". Maybe during breakfast, this is the moment when they decide to take flight. First there is the unmistakable sound, the loud beating of wings. The start is a little clumsy as they raise their heavy bodies into . . .
Fodder for the soul
Are we sharing similar thoughts as we watch the cattle being fed? Fodder. Winter. Action. The structure of everything is revealed by winter, so I am aware of this Robin following me. It's a territorial thing with Robins, they own the place. Making my way along the lane, he continually swoops on ahead always landing in . . .
Faery creatures dancing in rainbows of dew
When you are out there early in the morning, you see things. Mostly you see the usual things but once in a while nature surprises. These tiny rainbows within rainbows are a combination of dawn light, frosty dew and gorse spikes. Moments later, as the sun comes up, the dancing faery creatures fade. We all have our . . .
Watching and listening
She edges across the Irish sky from the south west. Traveling on the wind, changing moment to moment. From first thing in the morning we wonder about what we are in for, what mood will our weather bring today. Forming a boundary in our relationships, when we go beyond weather talk . . .
What is, is….
I could see from the window that the Purple Loosestrife was blooming profusely in the bog field. Every day as I ran out the door to complete my week's work I held the image in my heart and waited for the opportunity. (Am not too bad at delayed gratification after all these years of practice) At last this morning I headed . . .
Inner warmth and woolly hats
She and I ran around a field excited by our newly wellied feet. We climbed to the top of a hill liberated from tartan skirts and white socks. We went "skating" on a frozen lake in our first corduroy jeans. She fell through the ice. I brought her home, shivering. She and I went climbing trees. We were swinging from an old Elder, hanging upside down . . .
Listening to voices
I am on the move and missing those walks on the lane. From life on the road, the midlands of Ireland open like a golden tablecloth waiting to be laid for Spring. Crumpled, layered, deep. The dark trees are silhouettes now, solid and strong. They open conversations with the sky and the land. Then they turn to me saying . . .
The sea will have that effect……..
I went down to the shore for the shortest time, the wind blew the cobwebs from my mind and I remembered my purpose. This next year 2013 will be precious the sea said to me. And somewhere in that preciousness is my purpose it seems. The light circled on her breaking waves, . . .
Love
The swans are back on the lake for the winter. Just one pair, they come every year. I have to go deeper into the forest to glimpse them up close. At first they are hidden by the reeds but as I step into the water they stir and swim towards me, elegantly posing side by side. They mate for life. As I have. My mate is building . . .
