And just like that April is here. Where previously I was met by darkness and the moon on my walk home, now the sky is still a light blue tinged with a warm pink from the setting sun as the last of the birds head home to roost. The air is full of the perfume of flowers and the evening calls of the birds as I walk past the fields. The Spring blossom is in full bloom now: the pinks of the magnolia, and cherry, the whites of the hawthorne and lilac. The blackthorn has finished flowering already and its snow white flowers have been replaced with vivid green leaves soaking up the longer hours of sunlight. Apple blossom dots through the hedgerows, promises of fruit to come in the late summer months. The yellow daffodils are bobbing their heads in the garden amongst the deep blue swathes of muscari and the blue bells are slowly unfolding. Dark purple tulips that survived the winter rabbit and squirrel attack in my flower bed are in full flower and the delicate white flowers of the wild garlic have appeared under our trees. Brighter colours have returned to take centre stage and the brown shades of winter are retreating into the background. Every few days seems to bring a new delight to find, the flowers rolling in like waves upon the sand. I pause again and again on my journey home, trying to soak in the joy of the changing season, feeling its power soak down deep into my bones after a long day surrounded by concrete in London. It is a short walk back but time seems to slow along its route and my ever running thoughts slow with it.
Walking is where I do my best thinking and as I walk, it strikes me that each tree and flower is doing its own thing at its own pace. Each move to their own rhythm with nature. The cherry tree does not try to flower on the same day as the magnolia, nor change the shape or colour of its petals to match those of the lilac. It does not seek to be anything more than what it can be in that season. It does not follow this path competitively or in defiance. No matter how many cherries I might want it to produce, come summer it will still produce only the amount that it can based on the conditions it has experienced. They cannot be provided now, I must wait until the summer months, watching as they grow and ripen until finally ready for the picking. The cherry tree is simply being itself. Everything around me is alive and everything is living; nothing more than that and that is more than enough.
I wonder - could I too spend this month simply being, embracing all that is and all that I am and letting that be enough? Noticing has become a delight, surrendering into the landscape is becoming easier but surrendering into myself remains a challenge. I have started building in small routines to the day. I rise, drink a glass of water and do a short yoga routine. Only ten minutes, small and effective - nothing too big that it activates demand avoidance. Ten minutes of journaling, tracking what is important and of interest to me (books, outfits, cycle tracking). Each day gets a word chosen from a select list. It helps me focus in on my body and how I’m feeling each morning: not something that I find easy to do. Work is necessary but staring out the window at the cherry blossom and watching the birds soar has become necessary too. I watch a crow as it glides elegantly towards the tree and then carefully balances on a thin branch. It pauses, holds itself upright and surveys its landscape before flying off again. Breathe in, breathe out. A walk round the garden at lunchtime, noticing the latest flowers. The evenings hum with activity until the boys are in bed and then I fall into a quieter, more regulating time. Good food, a carefully chosen TV programme, progress on a jigsaw, a few chapters of a comforting book. The last of the evening sunlight creates gentle flickering shadows on my sofas as it dips down behind the trees. The shadows are beautiful and yet without the darkness of the winter nights I feel a little lost, or untethered. I realise how much the winter grounds me and as it retreats, the warmer months stretch out ahead of me feeling so much longer in length than the colder ones that are now past.
Perhaps I am missing that cycle of ritual that the trees go through. They know when to bloom, when to fruit and when to retreat. For them it is natural and a matter of survival. Divorced from the land and the growing of crops I feel no natural cycle to move with. My days are very much the same, 5 days of high performance in an office, 2 days at home. Moving with the seasons doesn’t feel like quite enough of the anchor that I would like right now. I would like something firmer to hold on to and perhaps this is what I have been seeking with these monthly writings. I am not religious nor do I believe in any form of divine spirit or a greater being. I do like the idea of ritual though, of a grounding through pausing and celebrating life. I think I may experiment with following the Celtic wheel, as a way of marking the passage of time, of looking back at our ancestors and forwards into our futures. A celebration roughly every 6 weeks will be something to look forwards to, that will break up the year into more manageable sections of time and will (hopefully) bring small moments of joy and gratitude. Beltane approaches on 1 May, a celebration of the earth and nature. I will see you again in May.