This morning I took a leisurely drive to an old Brocante, the French equivalent of the good old fashioned junk shop. A fool's pleasure, but sometimes an Aladdin's cave of handy stuff. The morning proved to be fruitful. On my drive home however, I had to stop in the the quiet road as I had disturbed a kestrel just having made a kill and she was feasting whilst resting on a fence post. I wish I had been on foot, as I would have proved less intrusive. She put up with my diesel engine and moved to a different post to feed and with one eye on me and another on her brunch she carried on. I had to move, but wish I could have stayed until she had finished. She insulted my clumsy carriage with an exit that would make the most colourful of aviators drool. She was lost to the acres of newly ploughed field and I offered a weak apology for my interuption. I hope she understood.
As always, my drive down the long winding hill towards home is a beautiful site and if done respectfully, one can take in the breadth of the beauty the valley has to offer. A few polite stone buildings set amongst a wealth of fields intermingled with forest, woods and a lake. It all lends itself to a site that never disappoints, and should be arrived upon slowly as the view is incredible. This trip took on a slightly new dimension, as 2 young fawns jumped out of the forest on my right into the trees on my left and disappeared. The boys (my dogs) thought I had taken on a new standard of communication as my voice reached a pitch only dolphins could understand, and I shouted to them that there were deer in the road and that they should both take a look. Of course they couldn't understand what I was saying with their paws over their ears, but the deer were away so quickly, the explanation was lost in a second. So, I revelled in the the site, and had not the slightest care of any 'traffic' behind me, the moment was too precious.In this blog, I have written many times about the fight with the falling temperatures and the elements general, but to survive here you have to dig deep.
I might make it sound that I am suffering, but really it's all comparative. Yes, I could be in a modern house with modern facilities like central heating wandering around in t-shirt and jeans in mid winter complaining that the dustmen had left a margarine container lid in the road, or that there were cracks in the rendering of the wall opposite me. Instead I wear 8 layers every day, a hat, a scarf, thick walking socks and a padded gillet and am thrilled when I see the temperature gauge above 6 degrees when I get into the lounge in the morning.
As I look across the valley, the sunlight tickles the grass reflecting the dew and bouncing back a breath taking colour, the trees are beckoned by the incandescent setting ball of fire to stand proud and show off the jagged shapes that are leafless branches waiting silently and solemnly for Spring, and yet they don't understand the splendour of the long shadows shown on the ground so far beneath.
I ask myself, do I need a 29ft wide television, and a little silver box holding 4,000 channels, a £100 hair cut and colour or an item of stitched cotton and polyester mix with a minuscule particular badge which denotes I must pay 400 times what it cost to produce? No, I certainly don't. Each day is a brush with the very core of what each field and hedge and tree embellishes. The space in the sky is filled with great splendour. Those that surround me, have given me permission to be witness to their survival. The processed act of sleeping, waking and spending each day making sure that enough food is gathered, that procreation takes place and then after some sleep they get up the next day and do the same thing again.
The great tit, blue tit, black cap, coal tit, warblers, and more all now come and feast at my feeders. My selfish set up to encourage their company, hear their twitters and marvel in their actions. The crows still call in the dead of night and by day they fight off the several pairs of buzzards perusing their territory.
It's simple and yet I feel defined being part of it. Would I turn down a huge Domino's pizza if it were delivered at dinner time to my door? No, probably not, but I don't crave it. My life is now driven not by satiating a desire, it's driven by adopting a simple need and meeting it. I have relinquished the idea of surrounding and thus confusing my life full of items not required to sustain life and instead have worked to produce a balanced and happy individual.
Nature surrounds me, and nurtures me at the same time. I have deep respect for her prescence, and the affect she has on me and my surroundings. It is this which moves me to verbosity. If I cannot comprehend what is happening to my psyche, and live each day without this understanding passed onto me by my Mother, would I be just dead wood?
Though I suppose we are all simply dead wood. Eventually and simply compost, disappearing unnoticed and unmissed into the ground to feed another entity, to enable life in whatever form to commence again existing on what is left behind.
I'm OK with all of that, and long may she continue to take my breath away as she does every day.
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