Some Sweet Solace

Nature is my solace. A sweet, sweet solace. No matter what is going on – pestilence, prejudice and a planet that is seemingly unravelling – it withstands, carries on, dies and is re-born. It symbolises for me both hope and faith. It keeps things in balance for me. Provides me with perspective.

Pathways through stuff are always there if you look.

Like this one at St Kilda beach inviting me to take on the shifting sandhills ahead, lope down the softly-piled sand to land on firmer, level sand more conducive for walking.

Especially at low tide. Which I am able to keep track of with this clock gifted to me by my family a while back …

allowing me to not only keep track of the tides

but also the years between …

~*~

Things take my eye as I walk. Today it was the shade under a tree. The offer of protection from sun and rain. A comfort. A solace.

Things a little out of place. Discarded. Dropped and forgotten. Left to gather what falls.

Things in decline, that have given up the ghost, but are still beautiful. Perfect in their imperfection.

Things that shoot the gap. Opportunistic. Seeking the light. Taking chances.

Yellow roses growing against the wall of a high school (planted in memory of someone?) that, as yellow roses always do, remind me of my parents, Shirley Alison (1930 – 2014) and Donald Patrick (1920 – 1968.) Mum told me once that Dad always picked a yellow rose for her on their wedding anniversary.

A bud beside a rose on its way out, demonstrating the cycle of life.

Because in life we walk hand in hand with death. A fact that has hit me afresh recently.

~*~

Like rowan, the elder was thought of as being a protective tree, and it was auspicious if it was growing near one’s dwelling, especially if it had seeded itself there. If the rowan’s place was traditionally at the front of the house, the elder’s was at the back door, to keep evil spirits and other negative influences from entering the home. ‘Mythology and folklore of elder trees’ – Paul Kendall

Things happen in life. All the time. It is not to be trusted. But we can recover.

One thing I try to do, is not to have unrealistic expectations. That way, I am never disappointed. A little Irish of me perhaps.

I have used both sides of this piece of broken china smoothed by ocean waves, to write a saying I’m fond of: Unlooked for things. The dearest gifts.

And I am often gifted with good things ‘unlooked for.’ Good things that lie like gold dust in the clay, or simply there, ready to be gathered, like wild flowers in long grass.

And walks along the beach also help.

A lot.

Even in the wind.

The ocean never fails to soothe. No matter how growly and rough it gets.

I take what beauty the sea gives.

Nature is my solace. A sweet, sweet solace. No matter what is going on – suffering, pestilence, prejudice and a planet unravelling – it withstands, carries on, dies and is re-born. It symbolises for me both hope and faith. It keeps things in balance for me. Provides me with perspective.

And. Sweet peace.