healingwords: poetry for the soul

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. 

As I can not get out into nature to take my normal photographs I am having to look closer to home. Today the sun broke through after 11 days of cloud hiding the hills and dropping much needed rain on the campo. We all went outside to the patio to see some welcome blue sky and I spotted the light shining on the Echeveria plant. The raindrops nestling in the leaves shone like diamonds, the succulent still showing marks from the hail which fell a few weeks ago. This plant is a survivor, it can withstand long periods without water, it reproduces and grows rapidly as leaves fall and are replaced. They are a common balcony plant in the village where they hang down through the iron bars from curly, gnarled stems.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Today I woke to a tenth day of isolation and low cloud shrouding the village. The unusually long spell of rain and cloud is now feeling oppressive. It is one of the factors that always aggravates my breathing but now I am questioning any normal tightening of my lungs, every wheeze and cough.  It took sometime to feel motivated to write a poem for today until I found this photograph of the estuary and bay at Aberdovey. I walked on these sands a few days after the death of my father, the wind blew away my tears and the sun glinting silver on the horizon lightened my soul. It remains a special place, where I can go to in my mind for a little calming peace, where I am also reminded of the healing company of the best of friends.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

On my last walk before being stuck indoors 10 days ago I came across an enclosure of goats and kids on a terrace in the 'campo'. They had grazed the ground inside bare and it must have been close to feeding time as they all scampered to the fence to see us, clattering up the wire, poking their heads out as far as possible. The kids were able to get there head and neck out enough to graze the remaining green shoots outside the fence. Some years ago herds of goats and sheep were more commonplace in the countryside, shepherded from field to field and goats milk and cheese was made locally.  I was surprised to see a herd a few weeks ago, spreading out under olive and almond trees, eating the shrubby new growth.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

This is where I love to walk, a path through the trees on the hillside near my village. When restrictions were first placed on our movement I imagined we would still be able to go out for a walk and not being able to is difficult to deal with. I do understand that what seems safe for us in a country village would not be so in the towns and cities and if families living in blocks of flats are not allowed to walk in the park we also have to suffer this restriction. I am fortunate.  I can still see the trees from my roof terrace and bedroom window and can walk there in my mind. Meanwhile, the path will return to nature, left only to the wild animals.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

A week has passed since I have been out the door, a week since I have seen my family, held my newborn grandson, played with his brother. The sadness of isolation is tempered by the knowledge we are keeping each other safe.  As I write this the sound of Parcent band members is echoing over the village as they play together with Valencian musicians all over the Communitat in honour of San Jose. It is a fiesta here today, the celebration of fallas, a day when families get together. Today we do what we can to keep cheerful.  We also do what we can to protect our loved ones. As in times gone by when people suffered without hospitals, medicines and modern care we add a prayer and a wish to our daily routines, appealing to our Gods and Goddesses or just the healing power of love and nature. If it doesn't help it can not harm and at least we feel like we are involved and somehow less powerless. In my house we light candles, in memory of my parents who lit candles for us, to co...

This fragile, empty bird shell struck me as both an example of strength and continuity. Whole, it nurtured life as the bird grew and left its shell. Then it became a source of nutrients for scavenging ants feeding off the remains. As we worry about our own fragility nature reminds us life survives and continues, new life born from the most delicate of habitats.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.  

Today the mountain is shrouded with cloud as a week of rain descends on the valley. It heightens the feeling of confinement which even after a few days is starting to affect those used to their freedom. We are already thinking of how in the weeks ahead we will need to develop resilience and help each other through the emotional roller coaster of fear, isolation and boredom.  The rain is gentle, unlike the torrential Spring rains that can torment this land, striping the hills, damaging rural roads and leaking into village houses. I am reminded that this is good rain, good for the trees, the plants, the land, the creatures. While I remain inside, the trees and flowers are drinking, leaves greening, blooming for the bees and the butterflies to feed and pollinate.  © 2020 Jacqueline Knight Cotterill.  All rights reserved.