Rain is forecast, and thunder. I've just been outside and the air is tight with the expectation of wetness to come. The temperature is dropping, a fraction only, but it is sufficient for the observant to recognise a Herald Of Rain when it's present. The sky darkens, the bird calls draw together into silence, and now I hear the distant rumble of thunder beginning low and ominous behind the Gronk of the Raven's call.
The door is open so I sit here wrapped in a shawl of velvet and linen which is decorated with wildflowers and butterflies, listening to the whisper of the beginning rain. The air that comes with it is clean, fresh, the dust of recent days dampened out of it, born to the ground, pressed into the earth, washed away. And I am glad of it, because too much of one type of weather is stultifying.
It's been a strange summer, quite unsettling at times. I have had days of being very tired, falling-asleep-on-the-sofa-at-midday-tired, which isn't like me at all. I've had dizzy spells (now gone, thank goodness) and migraines which have resulted in me being more mindful about future commitments, especially those that expect of me travel away from home. I've become alerted to the true motives of someone I liked and trusted, and have disentangled myself from that relationship, a process that was uncomfortable and unsettling although necessary. I felt foolish that I had allowed myself to be fooled. I have been on the receiving end of other people's indifference when Ted, Pops and I were out walking and a woman's enormous dog bolted into us, sending all three of us flying. I ended up on the ground, cut, bruised and shaken and the poor dogs got yanked about by their necks because they were on their leads. I was stunned at her response, which was a shrug and a dogs will be dogs kind of thing. I have, at times, needed to be firm in defending the peace and tranquility of our home when other people have attempted to bring conflict into it, a thing neither of us will tolerate.
It's taken me a while to understand what has been going on. It has been about redefining paths, shedding skins that were too tight or no longer fitted me, and that has, inevitably, involved a certain amount of tearing and the discomfort that comes with it, but now that I understand that I can see that what I've been doing is preparing the ground so the right kind of seeds can grow.
A few nights ago I had a dream. I was walking along a trackway made of wood. It was simply constructed of a few flat planks laid side by side and it was raised a few inches off the ground. It meandered, like the swaying curves of a river across a floodplain. It was a path that asked nothing of me, involving no tests, challenges or learning. Eventually it peeled off to the left where it faded from sight.
On the right of the small track was a much bigger wooden structure. Tall, wide and strongly constructed, it supported a trackway at its top that ran straight and true as far as the eye could see. It wasn't flat, it rose up and down but the way was always broad and the path didn't deviate from it's forward line.
I looked down and saw that the space between the two walkways was filled with water, deep and dark, but every now and then, at regular intervals, posts of solid wood stood out.
I jumped from the low down meandering trackway and leapt into the water. Instantly, it became choppy and I was buffeted about, pulled this way and that, banged into the posts, which I grabbed hold of and used to make my way over to the tall structure. When I finally reached its base I looked up and realised it was even higher than it had seemed, rearing way up above my head. I thought what an effort it would take to climb up it, but I also saw it had lots of hand and foot holds and that it wouldn't be impossible, it would just take time, commitment, determination. It was a climb you could do if you really, really wanted to get to the path at the top.
I woke up at that point but the meaning of the dream seemed clear enough. Two choices: remain as you are on a meandering path that has no clear direction and could get swamped if ever the waters chose to rise, or take your courage in your hands and strike out for the other track, the one solidly built and running straight and true that will take some effort to arrive at.
That's what this summer has been about, shifting direction, jumping into water and striking out for the right path. And the problems encountered, whether they have been delivered to me by other people, or by my body reacting to the knowledge it already had that I was on the wrong path and trying, with increasing severity, to shake me and tell me so, were there to teach and guide.
I have a feeling there may be a bit more of it still to come, some fine-tuning perhaps, but I think now I have my head clear and the direction laid out in front of me. Presumably that's why the dizziness has stopped- I'm no longer metaphorically spinning about uncertain of which way to go.
Rather a Deep And Meaningful one from me today. Next week is busy so you'll be relieved to hear I won't be assaulting your eyes/ ears/ brains. The downside is you'll probably get another post from me tomorrow to make up for it. I have moths to show you, and fabric, and Poppy in her plant pot peering through the fence to see what the neighbours are up to, and Teddy Getting Cross with squirrels (they are driving him nuts, scampering along the telegraph wires among the hazel, picking hazelnuts and chucking them at him)....all the everydays that make life a Nice Place To Be :o)
Right, off to wake up the Recalcitrant Teen and get on with some sewing.
The rain has begun in earnest now....
Blessings to you all.