I can skip and bounce and work easy with whatever comes my way, either in happenings or in thoughts, and then cometh an Unday. Oh, don’t get me wrong, the day itself is just fine, the usual length and breadth, the light lasting the same hours, the dark ditto, but I, as inhabitant in said day, am not the same and not just fine. I can explain it not, despite my investigative forays. Nothing in particular happened yesterday and tomorrow is, as always, a blank space on my week-to-view desk diary. The mystery eludes me. I had no bad dreams, no discomforts, no bad news, no big changes. But the Unday comes unbidden, unsought, unwelcome for all its slumpability. I have had these uncomfortable days before, since Himself relocated, and had thought them gone back into the past, overtaken by all this moving on I am so busy with. Maybe it’s because the headstone is up. Maybe it’s because my daughter has gone back home and I miss her and her family. Maybe, but as a woman of spirit and moving on-ness my whole married life, I can’t hook on to either of those. Yes, they both impacted but I am way stronger than impact. Or so I tell myself.
Beginning at 4.45, a lie-in for me, I made coffee and watched the dark. In the silence, which is never silent, I held myself very still to listen. The rush of the burn just beside the house, a music to soothe the exhaustion of endless island rain. Bonus. The dark so deep, so unpricked by any light beyond a cheeky star that grabbed a second to say hallo before the cloud bullies noticed and joined ranks; the call of a tawny owl and wait, wait, ah…..the reply from its mate somewhere behind me in the woods. A blackbird on steroids, risking a chirrup long before dawn rises from sleep. A scuttle of leaves through the garage when I open the back door to garner wood for the fire, which is also asleep. Most folk are, most things are. I understand this now as a night-walker only I won’t be calling myself that once the summer comes back. Then I will just be an early riser.
This Unday is a Sunday. I have found Sundays to be troublesome since I arrived in the land of Alone. The last time I remember finding this day uncomfortable and full of resistance, wishes and longings for things to be anything but the way they are, was as a schoolgirl and for obvious reasons. Now Sundays drag. Sundays are for family, for couples, for resting and reading and for sharing moments more than any other day. Today is Sunday. I give in around 11 am and flick on a romcom, A Prince for Christmas. I’m not proud of it but it does the trick, it passes the time and it makes me cry and I need to do that. Then I do better, I watch no 2 and no 3 until my eyeballs are stretched to popping. I need to walk and I do. I notice horse hoof imprints in the mud, a bicycle track, stout boot prints, the strut print of a pheasant, the last night imprints of a stag and his hinds as they made their darkling way; fallen leaves, and the sky held in stand water, in stasis. Where is the sky, I ask? Is it up there or is it down here? I laugh, my laugh scooting out into the silence that is never silent. The tall trees lift my eyes upwards. You tired of this rain too? I ask them. A branch moves, as if in a nod of agreement. You have to stand here taking it, all this weather change. What can I possibly whinge about, me with my warm home to return to, with that daft movie to help me shift time along? The trees say nothing. They never do when I ask them to fix me. Trees are not fixers. They are empaths.
I come home to write. I write my blogs not for likes or comments, even though I love to read them. I write because writing is my passion, my push, my have-to. I have been given a gift and that gift will make voice, like the burn after heavy rain. It cannot be silenced and I have an outlet. You who read, you who follow me, I thank you. You mean so very much, just knowing you are out there in these weird times, still watching, still reading. Even on Undays, you are there and I feel like I am in a team, a powerful push forward of people, with voices and lives lived, you with scars and regrets and loved ones and lost ones. Just thinking of you all reminds me I am never alone, never without an encouraging word, a helping hand.
Undays will come to us all. When you have one, turn up the tunes, go for a walk, listen, look and know this. We are human, dammit, and there is no great escape from life and her trickeries. We just need to get canny, to find something to fill in the moments without judging ourselves. All success stories are fraught with failures, angst, doubt and rejection. Working on being strong in the land of Alone is the only way and, in living true to self, all of us are alone.
See you at the next turn in the road.