walk the green labyrinth,
end the year at the beginning,
follow root and stem to the source
December began with rain and wind so strong I thought the trees might blow down. But it is so much warmer now and the days are longer – the light and warmth make me happy.
The end of the year is coming so quickly, and with it comes the start of a new year. I wonder what 2020 will bring …
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.
waking slowly, you smile
and colour bursts across the hillsides,
fat, furry bees investigate your sleeves
The clocks went forward on the weekend here in NZ and now we live with the illusion that it takes longer for the darkness of night to settle over the land. Of course night and day come and go as they’ve always done – it’s just that we’ve adjusted our schedules to look at it differently.
And the land – she had started to wake – with trees opening their bright green hands, and blossoms everywhere – except now we’ve just had a dreaded cold snap.
I fear Spring is shivering in the rain and I wish I could wrap her in my arms and keep her warm.
awaken, unfold, arise,
bathe in sunlight and transform it,
green energy ebbs and flows in your veins
September – the start of Spring – so happy now the days are lengthening and we’re beginning to see more of the sun.
I have days when I wish I could be like a tree and live on sunlight and rain.
there is beauty in your ravaged body
and shelter still between your naked arms
not barren, only sleeping
not alone, the night birds are watching
Ah – another late post.
It wasn’t until I re-read this that I realised just how dark my words can be. What was written at the start of this year as a metaphor for winter, seemed to be speaking to some deep psychological state. And perhaps there’s a truth in that.
August came, and I slipped into the darkness that sometimes settles over me at the end of winter. The days are so short and the light is gloomy. Motivation dissipates, and all I want to do is to snuggle under a blanket and keep warm.
I’ve kept up with my artwork through the weekly classes I’m going to after work. But I haven’t put in much effort on the weekends. I was having a tidy up a few weeks ago and rediscovered my stash of wool – so knitting has become my weekend activity. I think that’s because I can do it while snuggled under the blanket mentioned above.
Anyway – today – I’m wondering if I’m starting to turn a corner. The weather is still awful, cold, rain, even thunder and sleet today! But I stood at my new easel and finished the drawing I’d started in class last Tuesday. Its good to be looking forward.
a little of madness, a little of wisdom
spin the compass in the midst of winter
a wild circling, a dance that keeps your heart awake
July – midwinter – sitting on one of the turning points of the year and feeling both the pull to go out into the dark, the cold, and the desire to keep warm and safe.
And realising that sitting in between these points achieves nothing.
There are choices to be made, risks to be taken.
Sometimes we need to use a tool to give us direction, and sometimes we need to be prepared to feel a little vulnerable, a little reckless.
It all keeps the blood pumping rich and hot, even if our breath and fingertips are freezing.
deepen your shadows,
rich histories beckon as we go into the dark,
slow mysteries in the undergrowth,
bright eyes watching
.
.
June – the start of winter.
Time to reflect and remember- to open our inner selves to the dark while we shelter and keep our bodies warm.
Time to notice the life that continues all around us, though it might slow and withdraw into the shadows.
Time to check the mirror for our own reflection, to notice our own bright eyes looking back.
the falling begins
the withdrawal, the sheltering
hold life close to your heart and release the past
Our Autumn usually begins in March, but we’ve had such a long, hot summer its hard to imagine the weather changing. But just this morning – it was cooler, I wore a light-weight jersey to work, I fiddled with the air-conditioning trying to change it from cooling to heat. I realised that I am noticing the change, ever so slight, that is starting to happen. And when I went outside to cross the road to the little sandwich shop opposite, the freshness in the air was a shock and a joy. The air felt fresh, clean, as if it was somehow more full of energy and oxygen than usual.
So – welcome Autumn. Come and bring your falling leaves, your cool temperatures, and I will begin the sheltering. This is the time when we move indoors, not to get out of the sun, but to conserve heat, to wear an extra jersey, to throw a rug across the bed. I should have realised the change was coming when the cat began to sleep on the bed again after weeks of night-time exploring – he had begun to notice the drop in temperature on his midnight rambles.
So – welcome Autumn. And as I start to move inside, I’ll notice the treasures I have around my house, and I will light a candle to the memories. But I will hold hands with the present, with the here and now, and what gives me purpose and pleasure.
So – welcome Autumn. And soon you will bring your sister Winter. And that’s when things get serious.
veriditas
green hands
hold the sky, shelter the land
dance in the half-light, verdant choreography
filling the space
every window shows your face
your multitudes, your bright insistence
the falling begins
the withdrawal, the sheltering
hold life close to your heart and release the past
bright jewels fall
from your fingers, painting the ground
colours from a royal palette – amber, ruby, amethyst
release the lost ones
shelter those come home
clear a path, light a candle, set the table, close the door
deepen your shadows
rich histories beckon as we go into the dark
slow mysteries in the undergrowth, bright eyes watching
a little madness, a little wisdom
spin the compass in the midst of winter
a wild circling, a dance that keeps your heart awake
there is beauty in your ravaged body
and shelter still between your naked arms
not barren, only sleeping; not alone, the night birds are watching
awaken, unfold, arise
bathe in sunlight and transform it
green energy ebbs and flows in your veins
waking slowly, you smile
and colour bursts across the hillsides
fat, furry bees investigate your sleeves
standing tall
arms heavy with flowers
you reach for the earth and greet the sky
walk the green labyrinth
end the year at the beginning
follow root and stem to the source
veriditas
Unlike other years, when I’ve spent these weeks before the end of December putting together my calendar for the following year, this time I’ve started with and completed the text first.
Previously, I’ve chosen the photos that “spoke” to me, and then recorded their message. This time, I started gathering photos and realised I was choosing pictures of trees, and that there was a voice coming even though I didn’t have all the photos yet.
So I decided to let the voice speak, and I’ll revisit my selection and find or take new photos as required.
These verses begin with January and work their way to December. For those of you in the northern hemisphere, this might make more sense if you start in the middle.
And – veriditas – one of the three “v” words that have both well and truly settled into me and become a form of expression. I’ll post some work on the others in the new year.
©clairegriffin2018
the dark contracts
edges pull together, coalesce into beak and claw and feather
black energy takes form
These black beauties are making themselves known. They peck at the edges of the garden, throwing decaying leaves across the driveway. They peck in the guttering, throwing clumps of mucky sludge onto the deck. And they peck at my kitchen window.
Last weekend, there was a tapping at the window. I didn’t realise what it was at first, then one of the cats started looking out the window making that strange chattering, chirruping noise, and I thought, “ah – a bird”. A minute later the pecking noise came again, but I wasn’t quick enough to see who was there. And then – at a different window directly opposite me – a bird started tapping. It seemed to be almost hovering – head bobbing back and forward to tap the glass – wings outstretched. I stepped forward – it looked up, then flew away.
What was its message? Did it have one? Perhaps it was simply a curious youngster intrigued by its own reflection?
I don’t need to know.
What I love is the connection – the bird-world visiting.
And this day – this first day of spring – I feel the dark of winter withdrawing.
It condenses into seed and bud and bird – ready to release its energy into a bright new season.
invisible necessity 