Tag: summer

  • Why it’s good to be spontaneous …

    "... quiet the trees stand
    like cathedral pillars
    leaves drunk on sunlight 
    arch neon green above ..."

    They say opposites attract and, in my experience, this is true.  I am a lark, a home-bird and an introvert.  I’m happily married to a night owl, an adventurer and an (albeit mild) extrovert.  He has introvert tendencies too, but you get my point I’m sure.  

    I’m a serial planner, mapping out my days.  I live my life by lists.  It largely works for me, although I acknowledge its limitations.  To live like this can be too regimented and close doors that would have opened to you if you’d only given them the slightest push.  

    Luckily for me, my husband will help me push through an opening I would have otherwise ignored.  This week’s poem is about such a time, when I would have stayed home to complete something on my to-do list. Looking back now, I can’t remember what it was I was so keen to do, which speaks volumes.  Whatever chore it was, it wasn’t important was it?  

    An old wooden door, stood ajar against a stone wall. Inviting you in.

    To instead venture out on a glorious summer afternoon, to pick blackberries, proved to be a rewarding experience on so many levels.  I wonder now, if it was the spontaneity that made the afternoon so special.  It does us all good, I think, to be impulsive at times.  To do something we wouldn’t normally do.  To leave our comfort zone and venture into the unknown and uncertain.  I appreciated the outdoors so much more that day because I came to it fresh.  It was an unexpected pleasure to be out in nature when I had planned to stay home.

    To do something spontaneous can awaken your senses and bring fresh insight.  Just when you thought you knew yourself, you might suddenly discover a new skill or passion.  I have a friend who joined me on a walk last summer, with a group intent on swimming as well as walking.  She told me from the outset that she hadn’t brought a swimsuit because she had no intention of going for a swim.  Fair enough.  But when she later observed us all getting ready to swim, she was tempted into the water, borrowing a spare swimsuit from someone who’d pack two.  She loved it, and has been a staunch cold water swimmer ever since.  She took the plunge, in more ways that one!

    What I remember in particular about that afternoon blackberry picking was how it took me back to childhood memories, whilst also filling me with gratitude for the present.  There I was, stood shoulder to shoulder, with my happy-go-lucky husband, both of us fully engaged in the task of fruit picking.  It felt such a privilege to be alive in that moment, part of a glorious landscape, and part of each other’s lives in a way we often take for granted.  It was, for me, a simple pleasure of profound significance, because it reminded me of all I have in my life. I came away with more than the blackberries in my Tupperware box. 

    You don’t have to do much to welcome in fresh insights.  I wonder how many of you always sit in the same seat at the dining table at home, or opt every day for the same desk in a so-called hot-desk office?  Perhaps you read a certain genre of fiction, shop for clothes from the same few stores or frequent a particular coffee shop chain.  Why not try something different?  Who knows, it may completely change your perspective?  You may discover something about yourself that you had either forgotten or never knew.  Have a go!

    blackberry pickingDownload

  • When weather evokes memories …

    "... who isn’t charmed 
    by a wild flower meadow 
    oxeye daisies stand tall 
    battered poppies 
    brave the wind
    crane’s-bill and bindweed
    line the lanes ..."

    Well, what a summer it has been!   The fields are parched, the hay is gathered early, and much of the country is in drought.  But not yet in Yorkshire, although perhaps it’s just a matter of time. 

    We all have an opinion on the weather don’t we?  But even the sun worshippers have to acknowledge, I think, that we need rain. I’m not about to get into a climate change debate, but I think it’s safe to say that the climate is changing.  It makes me wonder where it will all end.  The world continues to evolve and so, of course, do we.  

    I’ve been reflecting on how I’ve changed over the last few years, having reached some milestones in life.  A year into retirement from my full time job, I’ve had the opportunity to do more of what I love and to spend more time with family and friends.  I’ve found space to focus on creativity, to exercise and travel.  I’ve thought a lot about how I am ageing.  I can’t avoid it: I look in the mirror every day and see it looking back at me.  And I welcome this older face, the grey curls, and the still bright eyes.  If my social media algorithms are anything to go by, we are obsessed with ageing.  So many of the podcasts I listen to tackle the subject of ageing, seeking to tell positive stories about how age can bring wisdom, freedom and fresh opportunities.  So far, that’s been my experience.  

    It’s humbling to realise, as you age, that you are becoming the older generation.  As what was the older generation die, you find you are filling the space they once filled.  It’s a cycle as old as time. I have to pinch myself when I watch my nephew with his children, remembering the boy he was at their age.  I watch my mother entering a decade that was once defined by my grandmother.  I watch myself growing old, knowing it’s a privilege not everyone enjoys.   

    Wild flowers growing by a dry stone wall.

    The summer of ’26 has taken me back to ’76, which was one of those defining summers in the UK.  If you lived through it, you’ll remember it and can still talk about it.  My friends and I had a habit of sitting on the pavement outside our houses to play.  But we couldn’t that year because the tarmac was melting.  I would’ve been in shorts and a t-shirt.  There would, invariably, have been a plaster on my knee from some recent scrape.  I was your typical tomboy; wouldn’t have been seen dead in a dress if I could help it.  But I didn’t always get to choose.  I occasionally wore a dress under duress and somehow lived to tell the tale.  There was my First Holy Communion dress: white like a bride, complete with a ridiculous veil.  All Catholic girls had to endure this torture and we bore it collectively, which took the edge off the humiliation.  Then there was the bridesmaid dress, for a cousin’s wedding.  My siblings both had new outfits, which they could and did wear afterwards.  I had a pale green full length broderie anglaise affair that never again saw the light of day.  Of course, the cousin later divorced, so it had all been for nothing. 

    My ten year old self would not recognise the woman I’ve become.  I’ve evolved into a dress wearer. My collection is eclectic and plentiful: shirt dresses, maxi, floaty and fitted.  This summer, dresses have been a life saver.  You can’t beat a floaty number to keep you cool and feeling light.  I will think of them fondly when, in winter, I am wrapped up against the cold and wet.  The changing seasons will invite fresh insights and, of course, we’ll all have an opinion on the weather, whatever it brings. I hope that this very hot summer will have left you with memories to last a lifetime; that’s the best kind of summer in my book.

    late summerDownload