Wednesday evening, October 16, 2019
Back at home and the light says stay outside, there are berries to gather, you can wrestle the stray branches splaying from the willow arch, the birds will call, the air will be fresh cut grass and sour strimmed hedge stems. There will be thorns in your fingers, brambles will tangle your hair. You will be happy: doing, but doing nothing except that which occurs to you.
I am happy.
A pot of berries on the windowsill waiting to be fetched in; I will make winter medicine from them.
I am balanced on a child’s chair reaching through the bendable willow as the night tide rises and all around is deepened into blue, into black.
Indoors there are jobs waiting, some of which are attended to, drifted through.
No more work: what says that? Heart? Soul? Something central.
Every part of me except habit agrees. Habit is pulled like the arch, pliant and alive, rooted and reaching.
Later I am drinking ginger tea, I am wrapped in a blanket, blithely tired from dancing.
Here I am!
Laughing.
I remember to stop and I remember to love moments that make up this my wild and precious life but I still need reminding
to let it all go.
How to do nothing except that which occurs to me.
How the moments can be whole evenings.
How I am working to make a dream and this is commendable but consuming.
Sunday 20 October 2019
Another busy Sunday - this time to Bristol, supporting four students on their journey to black belt. After the soothing and settling in, I take myself off to St George’s park for my usual perambulation. A tree had fallen into the lake, the ducks seem unperturbed. The pavements of Redfield had their usual spill of life, mostly human. A current of cold air, enough warmth in sheltered spots to cast off a coat. My usual huddle and chatter in the Bristol Academy, although breathable air is scarce in there when it's busy.
Monday 21 October 2019
Care shift. Clear day of variable temperature causing coats to be on and off. Pockets filled with acorns. Satisfying yomp around Pinetum Gardens which is likely to become a regular haunt. There is a clear lake which I want to swim in.
Really want to swim in.
For now I will have to be bathed by the changing air.
Wednesday 23 October 2019
Yesterday stretched out, dawn to long after dusk.
(But we find out all of our students passed their black belt gradings, a grand relief and swoosh of joy!)
Grandchild 2 stirred to cry in the night when her ear was aching; settled after medicine, slept fastly through my alarm’s apologetic jangle.
Me and Dog shuffled out into the dark blur of this morning.
We are heavy-tired.
Dog sneaks a nap while I get Granma Grace to the warmth of a shower and back to clothed, and bring her breakfast after all the pills are popped in and we say that was like a snake swallowing a large egg as the big two finally are gulped.
Dog gets her breakfast which smells like a fish swam up her bum and died there.
As I am washing up, Dog and Granma sprawl into sleep. I pray Dog will not fart.
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