Winter to Summer Solstice (3)

Day 3 Sunset 15.42pm

My plans this afternoon were to make my way down to the river for sunset.  It has been another damp and raw day and   I’ve hardly been outdoors, preferring the warmth of the under floor heating.  But at just short of 3.30pm, I ventured out.  I took Kimber, my youngest dog,  she’s great company and isn’t too bothered where we go as long as there is something interesting to sniff, lamp posts, bins, fox poo, you know the likes. 

With a little time to spare we trotted off down the street. On the way, we met several people who stopped to chat. Due to the time and the fading light I would normally have waved and passed by, but the people who stopped needed an ear and, I felt, some kind words. It’s easy to assume that everyone is merry and all wrapped up in Christmas joy, but that really isn’t the case. So many people are grieving at Christmas, from the loss of a loved one, to family who can’t be close because of covid, etc, etc. And people have worries too, illness, finances, loneliness, addiction, the list goes on. Christmas for many can feel like an enormous burden, so it’s no wonder that the weight of those brief conversations stopped me in my tracks, I too feel the weight off worry and loss at Christmas.

Stop

Listen

Be present

I made it to the river at 15.45pm, but only after giving my best wishes, my ear, and to one person, the wish of laughter on Christmas day, I do hope they get that wish. I took a moment by the river bank to reflect on my short journey and concluded : It wasn’t important to be by the river at 15.42pm, I would get there eventually, I was in the exact right place at the exact right time for someone else, and that made absolute sense to me. Below is a short video of the river.

River Lochay, Killin

After standing for a minute or two, we headed to the park, after all, puppy time is fun time.

My sunset might not have gone to plan, but I hope by pausing at the right time, someone elses day was a little easier. Merry Christmas everyone. Peace xxx

Heron

Snow whipped down the Tarmachan Ridge, and gathered in hoof prints in a field by the Lochay.

That’s where we met.

You, hunkered in a grey fur coat
Bedraggled and stiff
Gathering the cold
Like a sobering drunk at a bus stop Knowing the last bus has gone,

And me, cowering from the wind,
Dressed for Siberia,
With hot-breath-blow-back flowing Like the Dochart beneath my mask.

I might have passed you by
Had it not been for the sun’s flame
Painted on the dead bracken
Catching my eye.

But I stopped, and a moment passed, You fluffed your feather boa, And I straightened my mask.

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