NOTE: The photographs in this post bear no relation to the text!
I had thought to include ‘appropriate’ pictures. But I realised that there are so many images in our live of ugly or painful or simply scruffy things. Both in reality and over and over again in all forms of the media. I feel that this adds unnecessary stress to us all. And distorts the truth that we can often choose to look at something beautiful or amazing, if we are lucky.
So instead I have included random pretty flowers as a distraction from my slightly grumpy words.
The train is like a worn out dragon, screeching and squealing it’s rusty wheels on the tracks. Reluctantly dragging it’s heels – moving against it’s will .
Much like me.
The view of the passing, scruffy fields fuels my disgruntled mood. I am sore and tired. Thirsty. The constant background roar assails my ears. It feels so hot and stuffy in here.
The countryside is not remote any more. At least not in this area. Our humanity litters it with the debris of our needs.
From sheep to hay bales – relatively comforting – to giant hoses and destructive digging machines. Mountains of building materials. Solar panels, electricity pylons marching, scurfy and neglected canals – floating with litter and late summer dust.
Giant, ugly warehouses, and the debris of constant fabricating and dismantling lies everywhere. Heaps of sand. Heaps of rubble. Heaps of cement, of gravel… tangled collections of dull and dangerous metal wires.
We are a messy species.
We trudge around disregarding the earth beneath our feet.
This planet needs a plaster.
And yet I know….
My mind is discommoded by speed and too much movement. The sky looks grey.
The job list of home lurks waiting for me..
Another day and the clouds could clear, and I could see beyond the small scars to the wide blue skies and the deep trees ..
.. the lure of the seasons ahead…
Going home sucks….
PS … isn’t it weird how incongruous the pictures are! And also how it helps to take the attention away from the gloom….
Writing this reminded me of a poem which I love, so I will put it here.
I think it deserves to be shared.
I used to know much of it by heart and the rhythm and the meaning in the words helped me through some sticky places.
Wild Geese by Mary Oliver
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.