I have been at home

I have been at home. It is quiet here. I have five baby chickens who have transformed from fluff to feathers and are learning how far from mum feels safe. My pomegranate trees has its first ever pomegranates and I have been wondering when is the right time to pick them. What will I eat them with? Pink and white windflowers border the back of the house. Pink, red, yellow, white and purple dahlias line my front fence. Smoke bush puffs reach so high I think I will need a ladder to pick them.

I have been at home. It feels safe here. Late summer is holding on tight this year and days have been gloriously warm and gentle. Perfect balm for the madness of the world which I do my best not to attend to these days.

I have been at home. I can feel myself growing quiet here. I have lived in my home in Tilba, in the land of green for nine years now. The trees I planted when I arrived remind me much time has passed and all of us have grown. I arrived here aged fifty and shouty, still attached to being successful and seen. In April I turn sixty. The yin is finally tempering the yang and the pull of stillness and silence grows louder with each day.

I have been at home. A life once lived revisits me here. I glance through old albums, chuck old stuff, read treasured letters from years and friends now gone and weep for a lover I once knew so well who nears his death. All feels precious, tender and fragile at the same time.

I have been at home. I am cooking in my beautiful kitchen here. It is my balm. Where I go when I feel lost and need to find myself. Where I go when I need to travel but can’t find my wings. Where I go when I am sick to heal myself. Where I go when I am lonely and need company. Creating a new recipe is like meeting a new friend, if I like it I make it and meet it again and again and every time I remake it I am transported back to the first time we met.

I have been at home. Cliffy is here. Winter is coming. But first autumn must take a bit more from me I suspect. So I will be at home. Seeking soft sun in a corner, learning acceptance with white knuckles, taking deep breaths.

go gently

x jody

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