Tag: 2025

year in which poem was written

How we carry traces of the people we’ve loved and lost …
```
"... I think of the people 
gone before me
how I carry echoes of them 
like layers of ash 
debris I’ve collected 
and cannot discard... " 
```
This time of year is a particularly poignant one for me as two members of my immediate family died in this past week, a year apart from each other. I’ve touched on bereavement in an earlier blog, and I know that it’s a subject that will resonate with almost everyone.

Throughout my life, I’ve found different ways of relating to death. As a child and young adult, I fully embraced the Roman Catholic tradition in which I was brought up, but from which I later departed. These days, I don’t align myself to any religion or faith, and I find nature my best option when considering most things for which I need a reference point beyond myself. Does that make sense? I hope so, because I can’t think of a better way of explaining it.

Nature has a life cycle that, in many ways, matches our own, just on a different timescale. Trees are a great example, and I’ve found them such an inspiration for life in general and for my poetry in particular. Here in Iceland, I’ve encountered glaciers and the lakes that form due to melting ice, ultimately leading to the sea. It got me thinking about life and how we can’t always control how our journeys end, when we might die or how long it might take. Sitting by the lake at the tongue of the glacier, I felt I was watching the ice slowly die. Ice breaks off and floats in the lake until it finally melts. The icebergs are graceful, beautiful, and yet, at the same time, seemingly helpless. I couldn’t help but think that, after all those years of slowing moving down the mountain, splitting from an enormous glacier above, the ice will simply vanish without trace.

And yet, every iceberg tells a story. They display visible layers of ash, from volcanic eruptions, in much the same way as rock reveals layers of seismic activity in its structure. We too carry traces, some visible and others not. I’ve lost count of the physical scars present on my body, evidence of various accidents that involved broken bones and/or open wounds. Stitches leave scars that eventually fade but never totally disappear. Neither can I calculate the ways that my life has been enriched by others who I’ve loved and lost. It can be little things, like the way I polish my shoes or parallel park the car (just as my father taught me), to life changing decisions, due to the words or actions of a loved one. It was remembering the advice of a very dear friend, that led me to step down from a temporary promotion at work. It was one of the toughest but best decisions I ever made.

Truth is, we internalise the influence of others all the time, some of it conscious and some unconscious. You might not always welcome it: I hear both my parents in my head these days when I say something out loud and I recognise my mother’s mannerisms in my facial expressions. I purposefully make choices every day to live life to the full, to honour those who no longer have the luxury of doing so.

I don’t have any answers. I don’t know if there is any form of life after death but I have memories that still feel very much alive; I believe that means a part of that person lives on in me. At this time of year, when I’m remembering my loved ones, I miss them of course, but I also feel deep gratitude. I’m thankful that they were part of my life, and they left their mark on me, which means I continue to cherish them. I don’t think they would want me to feel sad but rather celebrate what they were and, in some way, still are. On a bright day at Svínafellsjökull, I felt sad yet glad at the same time.

svinafellsjokull Download
29/10/2025
Why a positive mindset makes all the difference …
```
"... I used to think I must go 
to a bigger place
for life to expand 
so I moved to a city 
far from home 

only then did I realise
that horizons grow 
from within not without ..."
```
I’m holed up in my camper van in the Pingvellir National Park in Iceland as I write this. It’s been raining incessantly for what feels like days, and we’re waiting for it to pass. It reminds me of my childhood: stuck indoors due to rainy days, which happened a lot in Lancashire. There were board games of course, or drawing and colouring. But my favourite pastime was reading and I seriously devoured books. I recall reading the Heidi classics by Johanna Spyri, thinking to myself how amazing it must be to walk barefoot on meadows high up in the alps, rather than spend your childhood confined to wellies that always rubbed the backs of your legs! I had a vivid imagination as a child, which I must say, has served me well in life.

This week’s poem is another written during this trip. This tiny church was easy to miss, partly due to its size, but also its low profile, well camouflaged by the surrounding landscape. The church accommodated a congregation of just thirty; I expect that there wasn’t much privacy to be had in that community. It would most certainly be noted if you were absent for Sunday Service, and I expect everyone would know your business. I can’t think of anything worse.

It got me thinking about how much opportunities have increased, particularly for women, over the last few centuries. I could picture the likes of Jane Eyre, sat in Grafarkirkja on a Sunday morning, wondering about her fate as a woman with limited options. What would the likes of the English women’s rugby team make of it all, given the rich opportunities they’ve enjoyed in this modern age? I admit to filling up with emotion when I heard that they had won the World Cup. I’m always inspired when women achieve great things despite the obstacles they may have encountered. Hard to believe that, in my lifetime, women were still denied entry to some sports and sport institutions. We’ve come a long way.

And yet, in other parts of the world, women and girls are still denied the right to work or go to school. In some ways, I worry that the human race is going backwards. It isn’t lost on me that I’m extremely privileged to be taking this extended trip to a country and culture that has truly widened my horizons.

During my time in Iceland, I’ve been blown away by the sheer scale of the country, its landscape and its history. It’s tempting to think in a place of such enormity, that opportunities will abound for people here. But of course, it’s never that simple is it? There are so many variables at play in how each of us view the world, our own situation and the choices we make. People have often said to me that I’ve been lucky; whilst I accept that to some degree, I also think that you have to make your own luck. Hard work and resilience are both important factors in maximising any opportunities you may have; that’s certainly been my experience. I read a fascinating book a couple of years ago by Dr Carol Dweck, Changing the Way You Think To Fulfil Your Potential, which demonstrated brilliantly just how much impact a positive/growth mindset can have on people. To use an analogy, it’s a bit like switching a light on: you suddenly see the options that may have eluded you.

The biggest lesson for me has been realising that the key factor in how my life turns out is my attitude. It’s not about living in a beautiful place, going on amazing holidays, or having lots of money. It’s about being grateful for what I have: the people in my life, and the time I have to do the things that bring me joy. Even if that means writing whilst being holed up in a rather damp camper van, waiting for a break in the weather.

grafarkirkja Download
22/10/2025
How the lesson you most need to learn keeps coming back to you …
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"... I am discovering 
the kindness 
of slow days ..."
```
I’ll admit I’m not good at relaxing. I like to be busy, doing stuff. If I’m not actually doing stuff, then I’ll be making a list of things to do. I’ve talked about this before, but the fact that I’m contemplating this theme again, makes me realise I’m still learning. Do other people find this? The lessons you most need to learn just keeping coming back to you, in one form or another, until you get the message. And then, if like me, you let things slide, before you know it, you’re back where you started. It’s then the lesson starts afresh.

I thought about this recently as we drove along the north coast road of Iceland’s West Fjords (Vestfirdir). Like most coastal roads, you find yourself driving back and forth, east to west, to reach the same point some miles down the road. I imagine, as the crow flies, the distance between Hólmavík, where we started, and the end of the road at Bolungarvík is significantly less than the actual driving distance. It got me thinking that life doesn’t always go in a straight line, which most people will appreciate, I’m sure. I’m not convinced that time is a constant either. We have made sense of time passing by creating hours and minutes, but it’s a rough guess at best isn’t it?

I’m sure I’m not the only one who thinks that time sometimes passes way too quickly, and other times seems to drag. Time often feels like the enemy, when you’re rushing to get things done within a certain deadline, or when you want time to slow down so that you can make the most of a special occasion.

Just occasionally, a certain kind of magic happens: time seems to stop, leaving you in a state of bliss to simply enjoy the moment for longer than you dare to believe possible. This happened to me on that road trip and it was totally sublime. I felt like I’d travelled through some kind of portal into another world, like Narnia, where the rules were completely different and I didn’t have to conform to anything. I just had to be.

I didn’t have to be any place by a certain time. There was only the one road, so I didn’t even have to think about navigation. Due to the many twists and turns along the way, the going was slow. There was nothing for it but to relax into the driving seat, take in the scenery and allow myself to feel part of the landscape. I cherish moments like this. It reminds me that life is not a race; it’s important to slow down and allow yourself to completely relax into the moment. I know that’s easier said than done. Easy for me, on a road trip, free of the distractions of home. I do get that. But I hope that this poem will prompt you to think about the last time you truly looked up and paid attention to the life you’re living. If it’s been a while, then perhaps it’s time to stop and look up.

reflections Download
15/10/2025
How one small thing can prompt big changes …
```
"... when the world feels  
overwhelming 
the news headlines  
robbing the world of joy 
day after endless day 
the only thing  
you can stop is you ..."
```
I spent a day and a half recently on a ferry, which felt like suspended time. You’re forced to slow down and adapt to a new way of being, which is perhaps no bad thing. I tried practising some yoga on the deck, which proved impossible. How foolish of me to imagine that I could counter-balance the shifting sea. Plan B was to simply sit and watch the waves, enjoy the moment and let myself be still. I had nowhere else I needed to be; indeed nowhere else I could be. It was a lesson in letting go of my need to somehow manage every minute of my day.

It’s so easy to be sucked into a way of life that we wouldn’t chose for ourselves if we had the choice. How many of us have pondered how different our lives might have been if it wasn’t for the choices we’d made? Perhaps that’s the thing to focus on: choice. Sometimes we are so far down one path that we think we can’t deviate or turn back, but we can! We may chose not to, but I think we almost always have a choice.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be the big things. I’m not suggesting we all make drastic changes, like quitting jobs, filing for divorce and moving to a commune. Can you imagine the ensuing chaos if we all did that? It’s amazing what a huge difference small changes can make. Just think back to those marginal gains leading to Tour de France wins for the Sky Cycling Team. And let’s not forget Dr Michael Moseley’s attempts to persuade us, as a nation, to do “just one thing” to improve our health.

Who would’ve thought an introduction to weaving would prompt a shift in my perspective? But it did and this poem is the result. Perhaps it was the need to concentrate on doing something physical with my hands. Or maybe it was simply the fact that I was doing something different: I wasn’t looking at my phone; listening to the news; or busy trying to do several things at once. We have a tendency to think that we need to take drastic measures to effect change in our lives. I was speaking to a friend recently who told me that she wants to change her lifestyle. Each morning she feels enthused, only to lose momentum later in the day. I suggested that she make small steps first and follow the rule of three. I love this rule! You focus on just three things over a three month period, rather than try to tackle everything in one go. It feels more manageable somehow.

Trying something new is a great way to re-boot. Sometimes that can be purposeful; other times it is gifted to you by circumstances beyond your control. Like the ferry crossing I mentioned earlier. No matter how much I might’ve wanted to arrive quicker, I simply had to adapt to a slower pace of life for the duration of the crossing. Maybe today is your day to try something new? Perhaps you’ll discover new depths you didn’t know you had! I feel sure that, like the ocean, we all have hidden treasures yet to be discovered.

weaving Download
08/10/2025
How feeling small can be a big deal …
```
"... I’ve crossed more than a sea 
to get to where I am 
this journey began long ago
in dreams and visions 
of a quieter life ..."
```
It’s hard to believe that, at time of writing, I’m already half way through my trip to Iceland. Yet it feels weird to even think about time, because quite honestly, it feels irrelevant. It feels like time has stood still and I could be in a different era entirely, on another planet. A couple of days ago we had to drive to Reykjavík to buy a replacement stove (don’t ask … long story!). I felt completely out of my comfort zone, navigating a busy ring road and lots of traffic. For weeks, it feels like we’ve been living in a time warp, where you can drive for miles without seeing a car and where isolated farms populate an otherwise wild and wide open space.

I’m intoxicated by the huge landscape, so much so that it feels rude to break the spell. Whilst driving, I usually listen to the radio, or to music, but here we’ve driven in silence. It feels too much to add to the already crowded senses. If I say anything to my husband, who is sat beside me in the van, I almost whisper. I’ve purposefully avoided listening to the news. To some, that may sound irresponsible but, goodness, I feel so light as a result!

It’s been a complete detox from so much of what drains me at home. I wrote in an earlier blog about how travel can give you fresh perspective, and I’m certainly feeling that. When you encounter a landscape both as ancient and alive as Iceland’s, you can’t help but accept that we humans aren’t as powerful as we think we are. We’re not in control of this planet we call home. We aren’t even that well established as a species in the grand scheme of things. It’s thought provoking in ways I didn’t expect, and the poems just keep coming. I’ve felt truly humbled and inspired, brought down to size by the sheer scale of the scenery, attracted by the seeming simplicity of life here (which I accept may not be simple at all, but I can only share my impressions). Most townships are small and unassuming, usually with a church, a swimming pool, a football pitch and not much else. I find it incredibly refreshing and perhaps it’s just what I needed as I transition from one way of living to another. I needed to reconnect to nature and be reminded of my inconsequential place in the world. I have plans and dreams for the next chapter of my life, of course I do, but I’m learning not to look too far into the future.

One of the lessons I most needed to learn is to live in the moment. I’ve watched a lot of tourists here (almost all Chinese) pour out of coaches and hire cars, to view a scene, take a photo and quickly get back on the road. Who am I to judge? I’m just as guilty sometimes of seeing something through the lens of my iPhone camera, rather than really looking. I’m privileged because time is on my side: we’re here for an extended period of time. I can and have surrendered to Iceland’s spell, engaging all my senses. I’ve felt the roughness of the lava rocks and the softness of the vivid green moss carpeting the valley floor. I’ve listened to the howling wind, felt the rain on my face, and tasted the saltiness of sea. I’ve felt my bones rattle on unsurfaced roads and soothed in thermal pools. Quite simply, I’ve lived in a big place and felt small. I suspect planet earth approves.

iceland Download
01/10/2025