We inhabit space, our own space, mostly. The ‘Out There’ thingy is beyond us as we scurry about beneath it, standing in awe at its majesty and, well, its space-ness. So much we don’t understand, so much we cannot box up into human understanding, and this is as it is and has ever been since humans moved into life. And I love that. Although I do want to be in control of my life, I also know that I will never be. Life in the space we inhabit is not mine to control, nor to own. My life is a rental. All I have to do is look up, look around, see the Wolf Moon, check Venus is holding, holding, and then there is me, you, us, our life. So very small.
Not. Not small at all. No way. This life, mine, yours matters and can make a difference. Every generation since that word was invented has had the opportunity to do just that. What we fail to see is how. We think we are too small, too this, too that, too the other to ever make a difference. I am not talking about conscious recycling, although that is important, nay vital, but instead our attitude on how we will live. Oh, you say, who is looking, who is noticing? Well I don’t know but I do know that what we do in our little earthbound lives matters in more ways than we can ever know or understand. Okay, let’s say you think I am daft. Many have. But, but, if there is a little catch of light inside you when you read this, then try it out. Try walking, wherever you walk, and notice the way raindrops pool on a bare winter branch, only to splosh on your head. Feel it and stop. Smile. You may be tired, late, cold and sick of rain. Watch the way birds fly just as the rain pauses to flit colour across your eyes. Feel the ground beneath you and don’t bother with the worrying that your boots will stay dry. Don’t run from it. Stay a moment. See the lights of the bus, the way it lifts brown puddles into a mini tidal wave, see how the shop lights illuminate the burst of rainwater, see the faces wet and upturned. Notice. Notice. Notice. Trust me, it will stay your worries, change them, allowing in Space.
I waited for the rain to stop. I did. I really did. I watched the window, the rain sleek, the slam of it against the glass. Inside, warm, I faltered, but I always need to get out there. I need to feel for myself and always have. Don’t tell me. I need to feel for myself. That spirit has guided me for longtime. Right, I said to the looking dog. Let’s go!. And we did and that is when I noticed the diamonds on the bare branches, saw the trees silhouette against a greyling sky, felt the fat drops, gathered and dropped just for me. I sleuched through mud and puddles as I watched the moss green covering the drystone wall, ancient but still standing. I wondered about the old days back then, all those corsets and crinolines and rules for women we defy nowadays. Rounding the curve for home, I say hallo to the old pines, still standing. One creaks back at me in the wind and I stop to watch it for a while. So old and still with a voice. A robin follows me, jinking from branch to empty branch. red breast, perky tail, attitude.
Hallo you. And, thank you.