Sharing the Words from a Walking Diary: Autumn Blowing In
Teasels from last year have seeded, grown and are seeding again.
Rich, ox-blood stalks hold up snails – chocolate swirls of snails, stuck fast on the side. Sitting. Stopped. Still.
Autumn wind – the wind of change – new times blowing in, old ones blowing away. Fungus, rot and mould, and ripening berries to be eaten and left as droppings here… and there.
Wind moving across, always moving. Time and season, growing older, dying, replaced by what? Mould, fungus, sleep, rot, bedding down for Winter.
There is space here. Space to be whoever you are in body, in blood and flesh and mud. Letting everything else drop, rot and blow away.
Here you are you, no one else to see or hear you, to check, to perform for or to – here you are just and purely you.
Berries are for new life too – fruits to carry genes forward through the winter. Everything else gets blown or rotted away, husks, dry old and flaky, restrictive, strangling scabs of the past. Reveal the new, live on through.
But the kestrel uses the wind, it holds him up above the busy voles along the edge of the field. His body tips and he moves along, not blown along regardless but dancing in and with the force of the air. Simply being in it, part of it, how it should be.
Can I dance with life as the kestrel dances with the wind? Weightless, arching, lifting, falling, being me where I am, being full, free and connectedly me? Meeting change and moving with it, blown not battered, guided, supported. ‘Just being’ doesn’t seem all that simple right now. After change, just being can feel quite hard.
( see here for the first Sharing the Words from a Walking Diary post )