Monday, 20 October 2014
On this morning's drive to Kirriemuir I observed the beech, the oak, the sycamore and the ash trees all perfectly still - yet the forecast warned of impending gales and I wanted to whisper to them an early warning of the severe weather which will, inevitably cause them some damage.
Driving on it reminded me of that stillness that I love so much, that stillness which often whets my desire for more and more of those quiet, peace filled times. I know just as the trees do that the stillness will pass, and it will return just as the gales will too.
The ebb and flow.
The dying and the new born.
The rain and the sunshine.
Each means more with the knowledge of the other.
We cherish the new born because of the transience of life.
We are thankful for the rain, as the crops need that source just as much as the sustenance provided by the sun.
I appreciate the stillness of the trees, laden with their autumnal leaves just as much as when their branches dance in the wind scattering a carpet of orange, gold and brown across the roads and fields.
I'm grateful for my eyes and their ability to see all that's around me, equally glad as night falls and I can close them while I descend into a dark place where sleep restores me.
Tomorrow my drive to Kirriemuir will look a bit different as the weather front will have scurried over the east of Scotland leaving a battered and bruised landscape in it's wake - and so the ebb and flow continues.
Life and the natural world is richer because of diversity and change, so instead of dreading it enjoy watching the colours and darkness that unfolds effortlessly, unpredictably, uncontrollably around you.
"Life is a series of natural and spontaneous changes. Don't resist them - that only creates sorrow. Let reality be reality. Let things flow naturally forward in whatever way they like." - Lao Tzu