I am loving the light mornings. Waking, as I do, at silly 0’clock, has been challenging until the light mornings. Although I could bring in the wood and feed the birds with a head torch on, there is something so exciting about the day starting when I do. There is hope and there are possibilities in the light, even if it is beginning to rain just when the roofer said he would come to begin tearing off the old lead and affixing the new. In theory, this could mean that the internal leaks will be arrested mid dribble, that the ceiling will dry and that the painter can come to paint. This old house may have 3 foot thick outer walls, but these walls have stood strong since 1837, and I might be leaking too, if I was that old.
The light is not the only thing that has changed. The air is softer and the wind has lost its bite, for now, although we can never be complacent on the island until about May 3rd, sticking out, as we do, into the wild Atlantic. Her fractious moods can do a complete 360 in half a day. That bite could return; the snow could fall again and we may yet be pounded into powder by hailstones #golfballs.
The seedlings in my conservatory are ready to spread and it is so tempting to plant them out, to set them free, but I won’t risk that for a while yet. There is, nonetheless, a restlessness in this new light and this softer wind, that argues with logic. It’s a feeling, a flying inside, a need to clean out dead leaves and the old bones of winter, to strip down to shorts and frocks and to lean into the promise of warmth and sunlight. Somewhere underneath this fisherman’s woolly jumper, there is a me longing to escape, much like the seedlings. This longing is everywhere. We are all sick to death of fisherman’s jumpers and thick socks and noisy waterproofs. We want to float, to sit outside among the birds and to feel the soft wind fingering our faces. We are tired of hot chocolate indoors with a rug over our knees. We want home-made lemonade and a garden bench and the sounds of natural life filling our ears. We are tired of the news that our country is in chaos, and we long to hear new stories from the natural world, stories being told as they happen around us, stories of new life, of hope and light and the world turning still, as she always will until she fizzles out, and we all fizzle out in the end.
But, we must be patient a while longer for the summer days will come eventually. And, for now, there is a wealth of wonder in my life, and in yours. A wealth that begs acknowledgement and gratitude. As turmoil abounds, at home and far away, we have the chance to be very thankful for what we do have, and to show and tell it to everyone we meet. Being a light giver is a task we can all take on and the only way to do that is through thankfulness. I thanked my bed this morning for a good night’s rest. It may sound riddickerluss but I promise it works. Although it is easy to focus on Brexit or the horror of a cyclone or something closer to home like not enough money for the month, I recommend a realignment of thought. I recommend the noticing of every single good thing, and there will be plenty just longing to be noticed. I’m tired of my fisherman’s jumper, but at least I have one and it keeps me very cosy. I am longing for more sunlight, but at least I can don my noisy waterproofs and walk or run (if absolutely necessary). I can reach out, touch and smell the fragrant daffodils; I can hear sounds of life around me. I can move freely. I have boots for my feet and hot water on tap. I have friends and family, a working telephone, a caring job, food on the table, music enough to fill all the rooms, a car, and choices. I am wealthy indeed.
So instead of longing for more light, I plan to be thankful for the light I have around me, right here, and right now. And then, I shall carry that light into someone else’s darkness, so that together, we bring summer in.