standing tall
arms heavy with flowers
you reach for the earth and greet the sky
This time of year – The trees are waking – stretching, rolling their shoulders. Their arms are laden with flowers, gifts to the warming air and the bees. Gifts given freely, part of the exchange between earth and sky.
ready to release and renew
there is beauty in the most humble
even the dandelion longs to sing
This time of year is full of spirit, talk of the thin veil, acknowledging ancestors.
Here in the Southern Hemisphere, we are well into spring, and I’m focusing on renewal and finding beauty.
Blossoms are everywhere, scenting the air, delicate pale pink petals on my small apple tree. The weeds are doing their best to compete, bright yellow dandelion flowers shouting from the emerald grass.
This is such an intense time, saturated colour, and the startling speed of new growth.
The flax flowers are almost opening, and when they do, tui will circle the house, then land and feed.
And I’ve been reflecting on how I can release my work into the world. This year has had such a focus on the visual. I’ve been gifting paintings to my friends. My own little efforts to bring beauty into the world. My little blossoms in the wind …
rain falls
each drop, a gift from sky to land
rests gently on the earth
A few thoughts…
This morning began with rain, the gentle rain that collects and settles on leaves.
The photos for this calendar were all taken last year. I took another photo this morning that was almost identical – a year apart in time, but connected by rain and light.
There’s little more to say, except that, in these strange times, remembering the gifts the earth gives us could help us remember the gifts we can give each other and ourselves – gentleness, kindness, patience, encouragement.
At first I thought that was all I had to say. I felt an emptiness. I could feel myself casting around for the right words… there are no “right words”. There is only whatever you feel the need to say. There is only the saying of whatever it is you are feeling.
I feel the same rage that rises in so many women around the world. Frustration with the inequalities in our societies, with the sense of entitlement that so many express. There’s a part of me that wants to join in the cries of “burn it down!”. I don’t want to feel helpless, I don’t want to feel afraid. I’m drawn to myths of Medusa and Kali and the Morrigan. And yet I feel the witch-wound stirring in my blood, and I wonder if I can be courageous.
All I know is that I have welcomed the crone into my body and soul … and she speaks now, the wise woman, the healer, the mystic.
There’s a part of me that needs to step back, and breathe. Standing barefoot on the cool wet ground this morning, I felt calm and quiet, connected to the rain and the light.
And now – the sun has is out. I bask in her warmth and the wet ground is drying. And there were words, after all.
the green man reaches up
to touch your snow-feathered shoulder
and you hold him in your pale hands
and take him into the dark places
binding him in a lunar eclipse
as you honour the enchanted union
with the son of the land
queen and daughter, wife and sister
you have many names
Artemis, Marama, Cerridwen, Hekate, Rhiannon, Arianhod
they are our gifts to you, whispered into the wind
our way of calling you family
but in the dark
he does not need to know your name
all he needs is the scent of your hair
the sound of your voice
the touch of your hand
and the ring of silver
©clairegriffin2017
indulge in the sunlight, accept nature’s gifts
grateful for the positive glorious energy
the earth shares with us
We’ve officially had the worst summer in years – with many places experiencing lower than usual temperatures, rain, and lots of wind. It improved a little during February and has certainly been better the last couple of weeks, so I’m looking forward to more sunshine. Today is the start of Autumn, and we often have some glorious days during this time of year.
Interesting that I chose this photo and wrote this verse back in December, without really thinking about the seasons. But this is exactly what I need now.
©clairegriffin2017
on my doorstep
a brown cardboard box
tied with string …
a poem that started as a description of a gift, and became a reflection on the giver
©clairegriffin2017
invisible necessity 