Winter Hibernations…

Winter, came less than silently on wild winds and shifting light.

Bleak and dark it descended… a blanket of hibernation instincts.

With harvest finished the very last of the late-ripening tomatoes perfume the kitchen with their juicy roasting in garlic oil and herbs… yes, this late! What a windfall this year!

Despite the freeze, spring onions, leeks, garlic, lettuce and cabbages are breaking ground in the slightly warmer environment in the greenhouse… alpine strawberries have begun to flower and there is, for me, a sense of the sap already rising in the elder, willow, rowan and hawthorn.

Hazelnut catkins hang in pale green offerings to the rare sunlit moments of post Winter Solstice days… the coldest are yet to come but as days begin to lengthen, slowly the darkness of deep winter lifts marginally and bright spears of green can be seen under the trees in the grove of Sycamore, Elder and Blackwood and bluebells prepare to emerge through leaf litter and mossy soil.

Through the forests wildflowers are already blooming and shiny purple, puffball fungi are a splash of colour in the dark… their smaller companions, pale beside them yet no less deadly.

Another year moves on…

We all have dark phases

times in our lives

naturally occurring periods

in any life cycle

when we fail to understand

that endings are precursors

to new beginnings

When our life rhythms

move us into and through

these dark phases

we can be ignorant

of what is actually happening

except of course with the benefit of hindsight

and that it is in actuality

a time of mystery, wisdom, and healing power

Between writing, painting and beginning the journey into spring planting, the world is looking grim and this affects my mood extraordinarily. Political news, climate change, housing shortages, interest rates and rising living costs are becoming a nightmare for so many… each day I say a quiet thank you to our life at the farm, where basic needs are met with fresh vegetables and eggs, with a surplus enough to fill freezer and pantry and to give to the local cooperatives for the wonderful meals they prepare for those in need of a winter’s day feed of hot soup or pasta.

As an author-artist, the pinch is certainly felt as the luxury of buying books and artworks ebbs… food on the table, heating and a roof over the head are far more urgent for so many and so I’m all the more grateful for the cosy barn-house.

One of my greatest joys is the daily interaction with wild creatures at our hill top retreat. A flock of purple swamphen arrived a few years ago… I refer to them as the Goblin Tribe, because they pop up everywhere unexpectedly and they come and go as the season dictates, heading down to the ponds during nesting season and up into the fields and garden around the house for the rest of the time.

They are fascinated with our hens, chatting to them in hoarse barks and squawks through the fence and would probably join them for breakfast if I let them in.

This year, since the studio was completed, they have become a fixture and without any encouragement, they’ve decided that I’m pretty safe to be around, too. Every morning, there they are on the deck at the back door or tapping at the window of the studio to say good morning. A rather odd relationship, to say the least but one I relish as much as with the strangely shaped currawong, with her crooked tail and unusually rounded chest, who now accepts a tiny piece of fruit from my hand… I didn’t ask or encourage… she just arrived one day, so I guess there’s a sign somewhere that reads, ‘safe house for the odd and ailing,’ or ‘soft touch here, tap glass for attention.’

Adding to the collection of waifs and strays is a Swamp Wallaby… fondly known as Ms Wabbly; her huge girth definitely has a wobble to it. She’s shared space with us for a few years now and completely unafraid of our presence as we go about our daily chores, while she happily munches on fungi or wild blackberries with equal relish.

…and so life meanders on through the ever changing landscape of seasons, solstice and beyond… in just a couple of days, we reach Imbolc with visibly lengthening days and the cold hard earth will warm, yielding to up-thrusting life.

There’s a girl

with the forest inside her

she walks the veil between

Her eyes, the colour of sky-bright

her hair of autumn leaves

Butterflies dance in her presence

through the groves

of haunted trees

and in the glow of pellucid starlight

her heart is open and free

to fathom the depths of the life-stream

to soul-walk with creatures who abide

All fear is lost in the wonderment

…as she walks with the forest inside

Warm wishes and blessings from my hearth to yours…

Penny

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