There will be dark times, there will be light. There will be time to open up, time to close down. We’re all learning.
At this time of year, I become intensely aware of light. I drive to work as the sun is rising, and I drive home as it is setting. Fortunately for me I drive in the right direction to enjoy the splendour, driving eastish in the morning and westish in the evening. Sunrise and sunset can…
The light in September streams in from an angle, rather than beating down from above. It kisses the cheek and the shoulder. I could sit in the September sun all day long.
Plants, like people, have an inner light. When the sun shines on them, they glow.
After five minutes in the garden I have re-charged and re-energised. There is so much to be grateful for. So many little miracles unfolding before me. Energy bursting upwards and outwards, exploding out of buds. Light shining out of stems and leaves. An infinite variety of shapes and textures.
I was just lugging the hoover upstairs when I noticed there was a strange light. Through the window I spied this. Hang the housework, I had to get out there!
The sun is just lifting free of the horizon. I move towards the light…
Mist simultaneously closes in, and creates distance. It disorientates, and makes the landscape appear what it is not. Islands appear in a sea of mist, and birds start out of nowhere.
A post about how the dark times we go through help us to appreciate the moments of lightness…
A simple meditation on the calm brought by gazing at a few cut flowers. Flower gazing brings peace, and wisdom, and enlightenment.
The light in September is soft. Rosa ‘Roald Dahl’ is like melting butter. The greens are sober: sage and jade. They provide the perfect foil for the fewer flowers in the rose garden.
Sunlight is transformative. Petals and leaves become translucent and their network of veins are revealed. The fine down on stems and buds are illuminated. Sunlight is a transitory and elusive quality in the garden. Which is perhaps why it is so magical.