January Lace

Some pretty photos and words from this morning in the park

January Lacemakers

The January lacemakers have the toughest job of all

Between December dream takers and late February thaw

Stitching whim to wisps of cloud, dressing phantom moons

Nudging limbs of matchstick men into pink kissing dunes

I wonder what the pattern is, is it a tapestry?

Of reaching out or holding on, of bliss or misery?

I tell a blackbird not to fret, for I remember Spring

With eyes not words, we chat of nests, with nature’s veil our wing.

I wrote that about an hour or two ago, after walking in the park and taking these pictures.

Whatever is going on with people and life situations, nature is a reassuring constant, isn’t it?

She never fails to deliver, whether it’s something new and pretty to look at, or to give flesh to the skeletons of thought that otherwise chisel our day with their hard bone.

I’ve always found hope and meaning in the sky. “Look at the clouds”, my mum would say sometimes if I was bored or waiting. “Make pictures with them” And I would. It’s a small joy we can all still access, isn’t it? Even on the wildest winter mornings, there is beauty.

I love blackbirds, and there she hopped. A velvet, prim Miss Muffet of a lady to soften my pissed-off spider and of course, like all spiders, I only wanted to be beside her but scared her away, as us humans tend to do! But before I did, we conversed in eyes and those intriguing clockwork nods birds offer.

Birds and animals always find you when you most need it, don’t they? They plonk themselves nearby as if to remind you of the weave we sit within together.

And then they leave……but usually slightly looking back at you, almost beckoning, as if to say

“There’s more. We are of two worlds and I’ve worked that out even if you haven’t”

The interconnectedness of life.

Today I was reminded of this in ‘January Lace’, other times I see it in water, a wheel, a web, even a tied bow on a shoe.

Connect, complete, unravel, repeat.

Whether we like it or not, we are stitched as lace into a dress pattern only some force bigger than ourselves can truly understand.

(Or ‘scientists’ obvs……😉)

If we are indeed, brides in lace, it’s up to us to determine whether our brief marriage to the earth means something.