March of last year brought blossoms and snow flurries and news of change: we were to move, and soon. A brisk, fortunate April wind carried us east to Hellingly, where we landed in a little corner of heaven. We are beginning to take root here.
It’s been a while since my last post. I wrote this poem under the oak tree in our back garden around the recent summer solstice.
Midsummer blessings all x
I sat down with Grandmother Oak
there on a blanket she had woven
of clovers and sweet violets
where the fat bees cobble about.
She wrapped me in her scented boughs
and gently held all parts of me –
the flesh, the brittle fragments,
the embers, the salt water and the bone –
with soft and steady breaths she blew
the shadows from my shoulders
and asked only in return of me
that I might be with her a while and,
in ancient, long-forgotten psalms,
that she might sing me home.