Thursday, 19 May 2016

The Song Of The Wild Cherry Blossom

Blossom Blossom everywhere, ethereal and light, suspended pom pom plumes in pastel pink and white. 

Oh how I'm enjoying the season of flowering trees. 

My husband chose for me this branch of cherry blossom to enjoy in our home and just in time too, as there is now a falling confetti of petals cascading at every turn. 
Soon it will be gone, the knowledge of its return in only a year, makes the loss a little easier to bare and also with such wonderful succession, next is the arrival of Lilac and Wisteria, my absolute favourites of all, Spring is so eager to please with flower after beautiful flower.

A few days ago I opened the door to my Beautiful friend, an unexpected visit is always such a joy from a dear friend whom you love and have missed.

Such a pretty gift I was given from one who knows me so well, a cup and Saucer hand painted and antique. 
Such delicate beauty is this when held in my hands, the china so thin at ones lips, the perfect vessel for sipping herbal tea.   

And it seemed Niah was also to be included in the generosity from the kindest of hearts, a stack of books saved for over thirty years and once belonging to daughters of her own, were now to be passed to this daughter of mine.

Books are very special in our house and when they are blessed upon us with a history and heartfelt meaning- even more so.

My favourite among them was this, a book I have always hoped we would own at some point 'A Treasury Of Flower Fairies' By Cicely Mary Barker 

The Song of the Wild Cherry Blossom

In May when the woodland ways
Are all made glad and sweet
with primroses and violets
New Opened at your feet,
Look up and see
A fairy tree,
With blossoms white
In clusters light,
All set on stalks so slender,
With pinky leaves so tender.
O Cherry tree, wild Cherry tree
You lovely, lovely thing to see.

Even more beautiful than blossom on the trees or in a pot or a vase is blossom that is held in the sweet hands of our Flower Fairy.

From my heart I am giving thanks, for the many blessings I hold in my life,

A friend whom I adore,

Blossom in the months of Spring,

A husband who understands me,

And a little girl who has made my life complete. 

Monday, 9 May 2016


The Papa I never had exists now,

Present in my life,

 As of the father of my child.

Nurturing, Loving, consistant is he, 
A consistency once longed for and needed, Is here now, 

Present in my life, 

As the father of my child. 

A steadfast love from a man that never falters, 
unwavering from the deapth of the deep, breathes now,

Present in my life,

As the father of my child.

The highest of the high.

The purest of the pure.

The first man you trust.

The first man you adore.

A healing for the child in me, 
Is the witnessing of this love that stands before me, 

The love of Father and Daughter.

The father of my child.

Sunday, 1 May 2016

Slow Moments

My birthday came and went, slowly, quietly. 

A long soak in a salt and lavender bath with a stack of poetry books leant from the library. 

Rather than a birthday dress I decided to wear . . . . Birthday pyjamas, and spent the rest of the day beneath blankets with tea and home made cake. 
It was perfect. 

I enjoyed every restful moment, drifting between states of absent thought and thoughts of self-reflection, of contemplation. The sort that are sure to arise on one's birthday, this day that marks the years that have passed in one's own evolution of the 'self' 

"Quiet the mind and the soul will speak"
Ma Jaya Sati Bhagavati

The cake I made was pure and natural, formed from the bounty of natures gifts. 

Gluten and sugar free, I used honey, raspberries and strawberries for sweetness and the dainty white flowers of spring blossom from our garden for decoration. 

I was so pleased with how pretty it looked and how delicious it tasted.

Whilst out in the garden I also snipped a simple, single stem and placed it with one of my favourite poems,

A poem that speaks so poignantly to me, of my own journey toward the rediscovery of my most authentic self, the self that can only be unearthed when truly broken, the self that has been lying dormant just waiting to be set free, and how it feels when you finally . . . .

 'greet yourself arriving at your own door'

Love After Love

The time will come
when, with elation,
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror,
and each will smile at the others welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror,
sit. feast on your life.

~Derek Walcott