It’s just over two weeks that I have been staying at
home. I have slowed down a lot and the
day seems to pass quickly when I am not watching the clock. Last week we walked on a limestone shaving path
along the marshland beside Matchedash Bay.
This part of the path starts at the edge of our village and it is a
favourite of dog walkers.
Due to the marshy conditions, there are quite a lot of
pussy willow bushes to be found and they are sporting their soft grey catkins
that give the bush its colloquial name.
I’m not sure which of the myriad of willows it really is because the
leaves are part of the identification process and there are no leaves yet. I rub the soft grey fuzziness along my cheek
and remember my life long love for this plant.
I remember how a man in a tree nursery gave me three cuttings when I was
a child and told me to put them in water, wait until they rooted and plant
them. I remember the amazing feeling of
knowing that I could create with nature to have a pussy willow in my back yard
even though my father didn’t want to buy one. Every spring, I still root pussy willows and plant them. As I stand before the bushes this morning, I remember that knowledge and
I breathe it out for all of us, into the wind, into the collective unconscious,
into our consciousnesses. These are
extraordinary times and I am willing to give it a go.
Everywhere I look, the Earth is waking up with spring. I feel a warm, nurturing presence bursting
with new life. Like a mother, she seems
to be saying, “let’s repair our relationship.
I am still here to support you. I
am your mother.” We have been like
ungrateful children, taking too much and not stopping to thank her. But, she is still willing to support us, to
bring us health, to bring forth life. And since I can’t change everyone or even
anyone, I articulate my gratitude to her.
I feel my booted feet walk on the soft trail and I try to walk gently,
with reverence, with respect. Here on
the edge, I am so much more grateful for things I used to breeze past without
even noticing.
People are coming up with ideas, fast and furious, to stay
connected. I took part in my first Zoom
meeting which my son set up for the family.
We laughed and watched each other cook supper, eat supper, take us on a
tour of their homes. I felt warmed by
the call all through the night. I see
on-line courses, book clubs, yoga classes all just popping up. At the grocery store, a plexiglass partition
had “popped up” between the clerk and the customers. I am amazed by our creativity. I also see people reporting on-line that they
are out walking more, noticing spring, renewing their relationships with
nature.
As a mother, I know what it’s like to have the kids leave
home. They get too busy to call, busy
with their own lives, believing that mom will be there forever, whenever
needed. I imagine Earth as our mother,
patiently waiting for us to call, for us to offer thanks, for us to care for
her while we believe that she will be fine without our respect. And, being a mother, I believe that she is
still wanting to be in relationship with us.
And I am trying, in these days on the edge, to be a better child, to
remember the family of life that I belong to.
Just like the Zoom call, I see the water, the sun, the trees, the marsh,
the pussy willows and know that this is my family.
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