Tag: 2025

year in which poem was written

How nature keeps me grounded …
```
"... I already know 
not all days 
feel like today
but all days are gifts 
the triumphs, the failures
and everything between ..."
```
I don’t know about anyone else, but I often feel like I live one of two lives, but rarely at the same time. In one of my lives, I am reasonably aware of what’s going on in the world. I will listen with interest to the news, and engage in discussions about national and international affairs. I’ll care about all of it. But after a while, I’ll feel completely drained and need a detox.

In my other life, when I’m not engaged in following the news, I’ll feel calm and contented. I’ll make more time to be creative, as well as do all the normal daily stuff, such as housework. I will certainly feel more productive and purposeful. This is the life I truly love and yet I know that I need to find a way to balance the two. It’s hard though, isn’t it?

I’ve been so busy recently that I haven’t had much of a chance to focus on what’s going on around the world. I know that, whilst I’ve been doing my own thing, world affairs continue unabated. I feel like I should make an effort to stay abreast, even though it will all carry on regardless of whether or not I’m paying attention.

Whatever side of the political fence you’re on, I think most would agree that change is afoot in the UK. How it will work out, who knows, but it will be different. Or maybe not. Despite all the talk, perhaps it will feel all too familiar. Whatever happens, it’s certainly true that for every political decision made, there will be some heralding it and others condemning it. Isn’t that always the case?

Who would be a politician? Certainly not me. I feel sure that most individuals who enter politics do so with good intention. They want to make a difference and yet, no one can please all of the people all of the time. Sadly, power has a tendency to corrupt and many a politician has fallen foul of that (and they aren’t the only ones!).

It all feels rather bleak doesn’t it? But take heart, we are not as much in control as we think. Just as it’s important for us as individuals to detox occasionally, perhaps we should do so collectively. It would do us good to adopt a different outlook occasionally. The planet has been shouting at us for years to wake up to climate change, an issue that far surpasses our petty local politics. Nature also knows how to whisper sweetly, reminding us with a stunning sunrise, just how wonderful life can be. Whilst we argue on the world stage about how to resolve conflicts, nature carries on doing its thing. That gives me hope. It’s heartening to learn, for example, that some birds instinctively return to nesting sites, year on year. It’s reassuring to see the sun rise and fall each day, despite everything. I even welcome the weeds reappearing with alarming regularity in my garden. Something here is thriving even when I don’t feel I am.

It’s good to sit in nature and let the beauty seep in. It brings fresh perspective. I wrote this week’s poem by an unassuming loch side where, in 1745, Bonnie Prince Charlie arrived by small boat. Here, he set foot in mainland Scotland, a land he’d never known. His aim, to claim the crown, not for himself, but for his father. I imagined the hopes of all those who supported his campaign, many of whom lost their lives.

We all have dreams, of one kind or another, some personal and some public. We won’t always agree but we can still treat each other with respect. We may sit on different sides of a political fence, but we all have to live in the same world at the end of the day. We all wake up to the same sun and sleep under the same sky. So do all other living things. My hope for you today is that you feel at one with the world of which you are a part. It’s a privilege we should never take for granted.

the prince’s cairn Download
05/08/2026
How I’ve made peace with time …
```
"... it’s amazing the gifts 
that come with now 
the sweet smell 
of morning air 
the sound of wind 
through trees 
sunshine warming skin 
so much it sighs ..." 
```
As I was approaching retirement, literally everyone I spoke to who was already on the other side of that journey told me, “I honestly don’t know where I found the time to work”, or “I’m busier now than ever …!” I’m sure this will sound familiar to most. If you are not retired yourself, you will undoubtedly know someone who is, and you will have heard these or similar comments.

Time is a funny thing isn’t it? It feels elastic and unsteady. I remember my dad telling me when I reached the grand age of 25, that future years would go faster and faster. At the time, I didn’t believe him. Surely, time is time, it’s fixed: so how can that make sense? But, turns out, he was right. I’ve certainly felt like time has passed at an increasingly alarming rate as I’ve ticked off the decades.

My relationship with time hasn’t always been a positive one. Looking back, it has led to stress and anxiety. Why? Because I’ve tried to chase it, contain it, understand it. All of it unsuccessfully. I’ve tried to make friends with it, filling it with things I love to do, negotiating with it how to divide up pockets of my day, in an effort to be more productive. Gosh, it sounds exhausting doesn’t it?

It was all fuelled by good intention, that’s the thing. I’ve never been one of those people who constantly complained about the lack of time. Rather, I approached it with positivity, hoping I think to love-bomb it into submission. It didn’t work.

Finally, in my 60th year, I think I’ve cracked the secret. I’ve made my peace with time. I’ve realised that I can’t control it, I can only respond to it. Goodness knows why it took me so long! During my recent travels, my relationship with time changed, in a positive way. I accepted time for what it was: inevitable and therefore, in some ways, irrelevant. I didn’t have to negotiate with it, or try to understand it. I just had to let it be, and get on with my life regardless. It felt so liberating!

Don’t get me wrong, I know that time cannot simply be ignored. I was taught from the earliest age that punctuality mattered greatly; I still believe that. To turn up late is a sign of disrespect in my book. We’d live in a world of chaos if we didn’t operate according to a 24 hour clock. We need to know when to turn up for a train, when to attend a scheduled appointment and, most importantly, what time to take a cake out of the oven!

All that said, I’ve stopped trying to pack as much into my day as I can. I’ve let go of planning every minute of my life. It’s okay not to have plans and to simply respond to your mood. It’s refreshing to change your mind about your day based, for example, on the weather. It can be hugely rewarding to have space in your diary, so that if a friend contacts you to say, “are you free for a coffee?”, you can actually say yes!

Someone once told me that the greatest gift you can bestow on another is the gift of time. I’ve spent my life doing just that and, for the most part, gifting my time to others willingly with love. But what I’ve started to do increasingly is gift myself. I’ve made a conscious decision to do my best to live in the moment. I know, I know, it sounds so corny. But if being alive to my surroundings, conscious of how I am feeling right now, is corny, then so be it. I’m as much at peace with that as with time itself.

time Download
21/01/2026
Knowing what to cut and what to keep …
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"... I’ll prune back
and pull up
what feels right
trusting what is rich
and resilient 
will thrive regardless
enriching my life
for many a year ..."
```
It’s fair to say that we are now officially in winter but I’m still thinking back to autumn. It’s that time of year when keen gardeners are at work tidying the garden, cutting stuff back and preparing for the winter ahead. If you’ve ever seen my garden, you’ll know that I’m not one of those people. I’ve never had the time to invest in my garden. Maybe that will come in due course, but right now, I’ve got other priorities.

As the year is turning, it’s timely to consider what other aspects of life would benefit from some serious pruning. What’s good enough for nature is good enough for me. No matter how fulfilled we feel in life, there’ll be something or someone that sucks us of energy. Like trees, there are times when I’ve felt the need to hunker down for winter, let go of all the unnecessary extras and preserve my energy. I bet I’m not the only one.

I wrote this week’s poem in the days following retirement; I felt immediately different and that feeling continues. There’s all the obvious stuff, like re-discovering the joy of sleep, and the luxury of choosing what to do with my days. People thought I might suffer an identity crisis, given my job was so much a part of who I was; I haven’t felt that. I’ve been happy to ditch my office wear, all of which has either been sold on Vinted or donated to friends. I haven’t spent a single penny on make-up for months; my skin is glowing, super thankful that Ive ditched the daily ritual of putting on the paint.

What I’m finding hardest are the relationships with work colleagues, some of whom became friends. Some, but not all. Don’t get me wrong. I was lucky enough to get on well with 99% of work colleagues and am happy to call them acquaintances. If I bumped into them in the street, I’d say hello. If they needed my help, I’d give it gladly. But I’m seriously thinking about the people I want to stay in touch with and those I’m happy to let go. It’s not easy.

I’m afraid I’ll go too far, prune harshly, and perhaps kill relationships that had a chance to develop into genuine friendships not based on work. Does that make sense? Does anyone else feel this? Already I’m surprised by the people who have worked hard to stay in touch and those that haven’t. But I’m realistic. For a start, they’re all still working; I do remember how demanding it is and I completely understand that I’m not top of their priority list. I may not even be on the priority list, which is also fine. They all have lives to lead: young mums, single parents, shift workers, carers … they’re busy juggling a lot in their lives besides work. A colleague who retired a few years before me annoyed me intensely by frequently calling unannounced and asking if I was free for a coffee. Er no … I’m in a meeting, or I’m writing a paper … I’m at bloody work remember?

Meanwhile, I am navigating my way. Keeping in touch with those I care about and hoping that I’m not being a nuisance. It will all work out in the end. It always does. Sure as autumn gives way to winter and winter to spring, new life will grow and, solid friends, like perennials, will rise to the surface when the the time is right.

pruning Download
31/12/2025
How to survive Christmas …
```
"... I can’t be the only one
planning an escape 
on a boat built for one 
simple but spacious 
room enough 
to stretch out 
on long lazy days 
held in the embrace 
of a forgiving sea ..."
```
There’s part of me wondering if I’m swimming against the tide this week but instinct suggests otherwise. I feel sure I won’t be the only one wondering how on earth it came to be Christmas week already. I can hear half the country protesting that they’re not ready, even whilst some will be feeling quietly smug, their preparations all in hand. But it is never that simple is it, and there will be a fair few, hiding on the periphery, who don’t feel invested at all, for all manner of reasons.

Christmas is complicated! Many may well feel frustrated that it’s a challenge to find the Christmas story in the midst of the hyper-consumerism that has completely taken over this festive holiday. In addition to the buying of far too many gifts, there’s the food and drink that adds additional pressure as well as extra pounds. And when did the Christmas trim-up become a competitive sport?

All that said, it can be infectious. I was in York on Sunday for a Winter Solstice concert and went into town early to soak up some of the Christmas atmosphere. Despite the dampening weather, the lights looked magical and the crowds were jovial. It was easy to be swept along, tempted by a mince pie and a yearning for snow.

What is it about Christmas that makes so many of us nostalgic for a Christmas past? Perhaps some of us are impossibly optimistic for the Christmas present? Whatever it is, I suspect our feelings will be fuelled by love: the reality of it, the loss of it, the yearning for it.

Whatever your plans for Christmas, I think it’s safe to say that you’ll have to be flexible. No matter how well organised, you’ll forget something. No matter how meticulously orchestrated, something or someone will put a spanner in the works. Isn’t it always the way? And if you are not organised, don’t panic, it’s unlikely to end in disaster. Something or someone will probably turn up to fill the gap that you didn’t manage to fill yourself.

Not everyone will be with people they love. Not everyone will spend the day as they chose. Some people will chose to be alone, whilst others will be lonely. Some will relish the opportunity to “do” Christmas, whilst others will feel exhausted by the whole thing. The reality is that most of us will feel all of these things at various stages in the proceedings. Like a good old Christmas buffet, we’ll tuck into portions of happiness, joy, frustration, anger and jealousy. We’re human after all.

This week’s poem is not about Christmas per se, but about that feeling many of us may experience when it all gets too much. At this time of year, I’m sure many of you can relate. I’ve been listening recently to a new podcast by the wonderful Katherine May (author of the brilliant book, Wintering), called The Clearing. Each week she interviews her guest about their imagined place of retreat, and it got me thinking about how I choose to withdraw from the world. This is not a negative act at all but one of self-preservation. I need to retreat into silence sometimes in order to reconnect with my inner voice, the one that always seems to know the way. Only then can I go back into the world, with renewed purpose and energy. I feel sure I’ll need to do that throughout the festive period, which is perfectly normal. Well, it’s normal for me at any rate and, like the poem says, I’m sure I’m not alone in that.

My hope for you this Christmas week is that you enjoy it, however you spend it, and that you remember to look after your own needs as well as everyone else’s. If you do, I can guarantee a much happier Christmas!

retreat Download
24/12/2025
Why I’m not a hoarder …
```
"... you can’t always choose 
what you inherit 
don’t always recognise 
the legacies 
planted in you 
germinating 
when you least expect ..."
```
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about de-cluttering, which to be fair, is a recurring theme in my life. I’m not one of those people who feels the need to hang onto things that belonged to the people I’ve loved. If my bookcases are full of books, it’s because they hold personal memories, or they are books I want to re-read. I don’t hold onto something just because it was gifted or inherited from a loved one. I won’t keep things I no longer use just in case it comes in handy sometime in the future. I’ll recycle, donate or bin it, depending on its condition.

It’s suddenly become quite trendy to de-clutter. The latest word for it is death-cleaning and having had to clear out rooms and whole houses belonging to loved ones who have died, that resonates. But this is a not a new thing. It was William Morris who said, “Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful”. Not a bad starting point.

Don’t get me wrong: I still do have lots of things in my house that are neither useful nor beautiful. It’s a work in progress and, given my husband is my polar opposite when it comes to stuff, it’s a battle of wills! That’s a whole other story, which I won’t get into here.

I suspect that one of the reasons we hold onto stuff is that it belonged to someone we loved and we feel obliged to keep it. Perhaps we think we have a duty to pass it on to the next generation. But mostly I think we hold onto something because we believe we’re holding onto a part of the person we’ve lost. It is a memento, that when we look at it and pick it up, makes us feel closer to our loved one. I do understand that. But what I’ve learnt over time is that I don’t need the object to bring the person closer. The memory of them is already stored inside my head and heart, and I can bring it to the fore whenever I need or want to.

This week’s poem came from a couple of recent experiences, which on the face of it are completely unconnected. I love how a poem can channel a range of thoughts, experiences, and events through a single conduit. I took part in a group exercise last month marking All Souls’ Day, the traditional day when we remember the dead. We were invited to make a bracelet using old buttons, the idea being that each button would represent a loved one that you had lost. I had this romantic notion of pulling out an old button box that might have belonged to my grandmother, which I have treasured since her death. But that’s not the reality at all and it made me wonder about that yearning for connection I sometimes feel. A tin of old buttons won’t make memories of my grannie any more real than the memories I already treasure and that’s the truth of it.

Similarly, I spoke to a woman in Iceland who was so proud of the fact that her family had lived on the same farm in the east fjords for generations. Her sense of place was so defined; she was firmly rooted in her family legacy. That clearly works for her and, for a moment, it made me yearn again for that same sense of connection to land and to family. But what works for one person may not work for another. In reality, I think the thing I most value about my upbringing was the sense of freedom my parents gave me to spread my wings and find my own flight path, and I absolutely have.

I sense I’ve barely touched the surface of this theme of legacy as it’s made up of several layers, but I hope, by scratching the surface, it’s prompted you to ponder what kind of button box, real or virtual, you have hidden in a cupboard and what it represents.

the button box Download
17/12/2025