Tree of Hope

I’ve found it difficult to muster the spirit to blog recently.

This has been an odd time, muted as we mourn the Queen’s death, then waking up to a terrifying budget.  Underlying it all has been the War in Ukraine and the oncoming climate and biodiversity disaster, not to mention a winter of privations. Closer to home, a number of friends (including our Ukrainian guests) have been suffering bereavement.

However, today I was filing away the year’s photos and I found something which had interested me in February.  Following a gale, I saw how wind-thrown trees still succeeded in bringing forth blossom.  Then I began to spot trees which had endured some trauma in the past but had continued to grow and thrive, forming new and different shapes.

A couple of weeks ago, Nigel and I went to a seminar by a wonderful organisation called HEART on deep adaptation – how we can best be resilient in the face of the Climate Crisis.  They shared many ideas about forming communities where people learn to help one another.  It sounded not so much like a survival mechanism as a richer and more fulfilling way of life.

I hope then that we shall be like the trees and bring forth beautiful new forms in the face of adversity.

Dancing in Fields

Over this summer, I often found myself dancing in fields under the stars.  A couple of these were festivals we had booked, others were just occasions on which I happened.  Some of the bands were big names, some of them were local people with a day job, but loads of talent and verve.

The most unusual was at the Greenbelt Festival, where the poet laureate, Simon Armitage, DJed a set late at night in an open-sided tent.  His choice of hits spanned the decades and had everybody bopping in a friendly crush.  I was wearing a skirt stitched with mirrors and became a human glitter ball. 

Since Covid, it is plain to see that dancing with other people, friends and strangers, is a privilege.

The school term has started now, the nights are drawing in and the news is very gloomy.  I face this winter with more than usual trepidation.  The question is, in bleak November, will I be able once more to take out those memories of whirling under moonlit skies and use them to fuel me through the short sombre days?

With green/renewable electricity, provided by wind turbines or solar panels, the greatest challenge is to develop a way of storing the energy for days when the wind does not blow or the sun doesn’t shine.  I fear the human memory is also deficient in this way. 

Therefore, in my kitchen, I shall have to replay the tracks and shut my eyes and pretend I am in a hay-scented paddock somewhere, and dance.

Photos are from the Greenbelt Festival