healingwords: poetry for the soul

The first month of our Spring lockdown passed in a mist of cloud and gentle rain. Day after day we looked out over a mountain shrouded in grey and wondered when the sun would ever shine again. At the time it had the useful effect of making staying indoors less arduous whilst the longing for sunshine grew day by day. Now I am thankful for that rain, the campo and countryside is still green as July ticks by, a time when normally everything is looking parched and brown. The hills are still dotted by myriad colours as flowers survive the summer heat. 

On my wall I have a print of a Cambodian dancer by Rodin. This constellation of scattered flowers reminds me of the energy of a Rodin dancer lighting up the dry, stony land. 

This striking plant covers the hills and fields here in July, the flowers slowly drying and folding inwards to form a husked cage. Today I watched a flitting bird land on the flower which whipped back and forth like a circus act as it flew off me reminding me of spinning plates on spindly sticks. 

These beautiful pink flowers appear in small clusters scattered over the banks and paths through the wooded areas on our hillsides. Their vibrant colour lights up the dull earth and fallen pine needles as if they have been scattered like seeds sown from a farmer's apron. 

I was enchanted by this beautiful field of wild chamomile. It has been a good year this year with the golden plants thriving, their scent filling the air. 

The colours of mountain flowers this year seem more vibrant than ever. Maybe it is the result of being locked away for two months and coming back into a natural world livened by spring rains, lack of contamination and peace. I am sure the bees and wildlife have enjoyed this quiet time. 

Here is another example of the tenacity of nature. This plant clings to a dry stone wall with no earth to root in and no visible source of water. Not only does it survive but seems to thrive, flushing the sandstone pink. 

This seed head stood high above the low shrubs, waving in the breeze, the seeds looking like the yellow butterflies fluttering around the campo. 

I sometimes stop and really look at the nature around me, more often I take it for granted. When you actually look it is hard to believe the variety of flora and insect life visible in even a small area of landscape. On the hillsides overlooking the village spring flowers are still blooming after an unusual few months of frequent and gentle rain. It would be hard for an artist to imagine and paint the colours covering the land. 

I have been fascinated today reading about the colour magenta. We recognise this shade of pinky purple in nature, mainly in the beauty of numerous flowers but officially there is no such colour. Magenta can not be seen on the visible spectrum of light as it does not actually exist, only as a combination of equal amounts of blue and red light. I admit to finding this concept difficult as I can see it does exist so if you are interested I advise you to read more and meanwhile enjoy the amazing beauty we find in nature.

Today I am reminded of the importance of simple things and how this world health crisis is making us rethink what we really need in life. I am grateful for the unconditional love of my family and friends who make my life worth living.

These brilliant yellow flowers on the verges around the countryside terraces and fields were buzzing with insects. The stamens reminded me of a birds nest with the open, squawking mouths of tiny fledgings waiting to be fed. 

It is so good to be back out in the countryside. The terraces are covered in wild flowers, everywhere you look is a riot of colour and birdsong fills the air. We are fortunate to be able to walk into this environment and live in a quiet village. The virus is still around and we all need to be careful and cautious but out in the open air at least gives us an hour's peace and restores faith that a better future lies ahead. 

I normally notice fennel when it has shot and is tall and leggy with a head of seeds traced against the blue Summer sky. At the moment the fennel is lush and tangled through plants and flowers on the verges and stone walled edges of terraces. I snapped a stalk and tasted sweet, fresh liquorice. 

This is a photograph of the hillside from the first week in May last year. I have not been able to go there since early March, two months ago. The flowers bloom almost overnight, colours spreading over the verges, changing each week, often grouped by colour. I remember once counting ten different yellow flowers on one walk through the pine and oak.  Soon I will be back there, under the trees. 

My daughter took this photograph this morning on her daily walk. She lives in a town near Barcelona that is usually buzzing with people and cars at this time in the morning, going to work, school, the roads head to tail with traffic heading into the City. The restrictions allow healthy adults to exercise or walk between 6 and 10 and then from 8 until 11 in the evening. Many will use the evening hour as they have children to mind, some are still working or others just used to a slower start to the day. The return to work will be a shock for many, like the worse of Mondays after summer holidays. Despite our desire for normality there is a feeling of anxiety about being out and about and how we will navigate what is being called here, the new normal. 

It has now been over six weeks since I have left my house. I am missing walking on the hills, only 1 km from my home but still inaccessible. I look out at them everyday and wonder how the spring flowers are growing after weeks of rain and intermittent sun. This is a photograph of creeping honeysuckle growing in amongst the shrubs under the pine trees. I thought honeysuckle was a garden plant and remember it growing up the brick garage wall when I was a child, bashed by our bouncing balls. I was surprised to see it growing wild. 

This Echeveria plant was found rather forlorn and forgotten on an upstairs balcony whose swollen doors had stayed shut for some months. The plant is a survivor, able to withstand long periods of drought or neglect. It is now being cared for on the patio where its snaking stems headed with flowerlets show how the plant grew through the iron balcony bars towards the sunlight.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved. 

I am missing my walks on the hills, thankful I can still see the trees from my roof terrace window. When the sun shines after the recent rains the flowers will burst out and I remember last year how each week the colour of the different flowers would change. One day I counted 8 different yellow, gold flowers, another week the trail would be covered in blue or pink flowers. This is a photograph from this time last year, I can only imagine these beautiful flowers covering the woods.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Today is Mothering Sunday in the UK. My wonderful mother never liked 'special' days, she would prefer a flower on any old Sunday  or a kiss and a hug when we felt like giving one. In her later years she was garlanded with flowers, my Dad bringing in daily roses and blossom from the garden, my brother rarely calling without an orchid or a perfumed bunch of colour. I remember her with love every single day, she lives with me forever. I know she would be so proud and full of love for her children and grandchildren and full of joy as I am to see her grandaughters become mothers to their own as our family grows. © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.