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A hint of Spring and the soft earth underfoot invite me to take my boots and socks off. I sit on the dry ground surrounded by tall trees and the fallen leaves that are still in the process of breaking down. This place between living, above ground woodland, and mineral soil, composting plant matter. I’m reminded of the duality, and moments in between, that there’s no rush to this process of letting go or returning. Toes wiggle free, their pale skin drinking in the light and as I come to standing, my soles connect. Grounding, moving, bouncing, navigating the soft earth, an age-old relationship continues to unfold.

We stood looking for a while, at the light beaming through the lines of almost-autumnal trees. The forest, quiet with human life, was alive with an essence that caught us off guard. Kind of like it was singing, and we were captured in the chorus as the leaves and the birds and the creatures played their parts. White, golden light wrapped around us in the clearing, our woody ancestors towering above and beyond us. Life, Prana, love, mortality, fragility, energy; all bearing witness, whispering their melody, revitalising the souls who were and will be here, helping them to find their way.

Early walk this morning, out even before the farmer on her milk round. I didn’t see another human soul and the wildlife was anything but shy. Hello heron, lambs, hare & birdsong. The hills are waking, drew drops sparkling across the fields as the landscape bathes in sunlight.

Then something happened; these hands, my hands, started gesturing me forward. Inviting me to follow them, like an old friend saying “Here, sweetheart, we know the way. Trust us”. I was cocooned in the moment, alone and unquestioning, listening. Really listening, with my ears and my eyes and my heart open, receiving. Wholeheartedly believing our bodies can carry messages to us, if we’re willing and able to hear them and trust the process.

I didn’t see another (human) soul on my early walk this morning. The village still sleeping, windows open to let the cool breeze in and curtains closed to allow for a Sunday lie in. The birds are singing their hearts out, teasing the cats watching from behind the glass.

I opened my eyes in the darkness of night and listened, softly, to the purring of feline creatures. Next to me, in our unity of jet lagged rest, my partner’s breath inhaled and exhaled rhythmically through his sweet, sleeping body.

I woke in the night to howling wind and weather against the window. I got up to look out and a blanket of snow has fallen, glowing in the dark. A few hours kip later and there was no trace, no ice and certainly no snow, almost as though...

Chatting to a neighbour, I asked “how are you?” She smiled and said she was OK. I looked at her & gave a gentle prompt, how are you? She went on to tell me about the pain in her body & we talked, mostly me listening, about a whole bunch of stuff she’s been silently carrying.

A man sat next to a bin asking people for change. I smiled as our eyes met and said hello. For a moment we were united by the reason behind the bell in his hand and the one that would soon be in mine, ringing out for peace, unity & change.

Driving home, I saw somebody on a motorway bridge on the other side of the railing. An ambulance and a person reaching out to them. I talked to them the whole way back, praying they would hear me somehow and know that somewhere, a stranger cared enough for them to go on living.

I sat down on a cold, metal seat waiting for a delayed train and said hi to the elderly guy next to me. "Brrr!" I joked. He laughed as he stood up, halving the newspaper he'd sat on to keep the cold at bay and shared it with me. We talked about the war until his train arrived.

The calling of the sea starts as a whisper when we are small. Quietly, quietly, giving us life-long memories of happy times, playfulness, freedom to roam and knee high tide. As we grow, and our senses become sharper, we begin to hear her more clearly. Harmonising with that something deep in our soul, waking a part of us that formed many lifetimes before. We are lured, lovestruck by the ocean.

How many of us wake up to an alarm, get ready and rush out of the door. Without taking a moment to listen to the stillness, the birds chirping and the slow hum of commuter traffic beginning to growl. How many mornings have we began without gratitude for waking up to another day, a whole new day filled with possibilities & challenges and love and sometimes heartache. How many more of these do we expect to have? We rush around and keep our heads down almost as though we think they’re infinite. The birds won’t sing forever, but they do sing today, for those of us that are listening.

He breathes deeply, rhythmically next to me in the dark. I’m half awake and part still dreaming in the early hours of morning.

Changing perspectives, shifting focus.

As spring sets in and the days grow longer, the nights don’t feel quite as cold. We shed blankets and once again sleep with the curtains open, waking to sunrise. Our feet are reunited with the earth, both bare, both thriving with the newness that March brings. Toes wiggle in the blades of grass that double in size and we’re drawn to the bees that venture out, playfully, hungrily. We, too, are hungry for adventure. Our bodies ache for movement, for the stretching of muscles. And our souls? They call to the part of us that became dormant during hibernation.

Watching the world wake from a deep slumber. The cats yawn and a radiator clanks, the curtains are drawn. Buds are flowering on the not-so bare trees and the early birds and crack of dawn runners make their way silently to wherever it is they’re going. Me, I’m off to make a cuppa.

These blustery days feel like a visual metaphor of the life force that surrounds us.

I caught myself grimacing at the wind as it wrapped itself around me, and chose instead to gulp in the newness, the stirring up of air as it embraced me.

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