"... if we were kind
and wise like trees
what thaws might we unleash
imagine the power
of a stranger’s smile
the touch of a hand
warm on weary skin ..."
There are a whole range of reasons why this poem felt like the right one to share this week. Is it just me, or does it feel like the world is imploding right now? I have to brace myself every time I listen to the news and, equally, have to brace myself against the storms every time I venture outside. In some ways, the weather offers up a sense of perspective. As is so often the way with nature, it reminds me that we’re not in charge. The world will keep on turning despite all our efforts to seemingly press the self-destruct button. I think it’s a good metaphor; we do seem hell bent sometimes on destruction, but mostly we are damaging ourselves. The world is stronger than we think; nature is resilient. Despite the damage we’ve done to the planet, (let’s be honest, climate change is happening), nature has an amazing way of bouncing back. Rewilding projects are demonstrating, the world over, that nature can and will recover if we can just learn to let it.
The podcast phenomenon, Mel Robbins, has coined the phrase let them, in an effort to encourage people to let go and let be. It’s so obvious when you think about it, but then it’s often the simplest things that we forget.
I’m trying to adopt the practice of letting go of the 24 hour news culture. I try, within reason, to keep abreast of current affairs, but frankly, it changes so fast, I can’t keep up. Questions such as: who is switching political parties, who wants to take over what country, what tariffs are threatened today … it’s exhausting and debilitating. Much of it feels like wasted effort when, within hours, the situation changes and the news frenzy starts all over again.
What I need to stay sane is balance. Having listened to the Monday morning offerings of chaos and carnage on Radio 4’s Today programme, it’s refreshing to listen to 15 minutes of Cafe Hope. This weekly programme focuses on good news stories from across Britain, which does what it says on the tin. For me anyway, it offers up hope. Whilst, again, it may seem obvious, it’s good to be reminded that the majority of people are decent, honest and kind hearted. People genuinely do care and will go to incredible lengths to help others; I love that and feel grateful for it.
I wrote this poem during a cold spell of winter a few years ago. It felt joyous to be outside in the crisp, cold air, wrapped up in winter woollies. Whilst it was tempting to walk at pace, in an effort to stay warm, the calming effect of the white, frosty landscape, slowed me down. There’s something about snow and frost that settles me; I want to stop and honour the serenity of the scene, soak up the silence and bask in the wonder of how everything looks so fresh and new. It prompts me to review my own sense of self, to allow a shift of perspective, to believe that I too can respond to changing circumstance. I don’t have to stay stuck in whatever mood, decision or state I find myself in. I can adapt.
What’s more, I don’t have to do it alone. On the day this poem was born, I was scrabbling around in the woods, trying to capture images of the hoar frost with my phone. It was then I noticed under the shelter of the trees, that the ground was softer, and frost free. Plants were emerging despite the cold spell. It seemed such a small thing but it made me smile.
It only takes small things to make a huge difference doesn’t it? None of us have to do this alone, we have each other; an encouraging word might be all you need to keep going on days it is particularly tough. I’m sure we can all think of examples of when a small kindness has meant the world. In the current climate, when so much feels bleak, it’s good to remember that there are pockets of real and virtual shelter everywhere, where we can all find hope and the means to thrive.
fi wynne writes 