Tonight we went to see the light show in St Day, the DiaspAURA show. The light projections on the old church were beautiful but impossible to capture with my camera. Here are three small light boxes from inside the roofless Church.
My choir, The Suitcase Singers, collects for two charities each year. This year our local one has been The Invictus Trust, a Cornish charity set up to help youngsters with mental health problems. Please do click on the red link to read more about one family’s wonderful work in memory of their son and brother.
When their hens are laying, we get delicious fresh eggs from our Dear friends, today in a delightful 4 eggs container.
I have now finished making six stained glass trees and have found a way to display them – on a tree! There are two conifers, a tree with an owl, a tree with pink blossom, an Oak tree and lastly, a Silver Birch made from Victorian etched glass.
We are still sorting (does it ever end?) and I came across a story book that I had saved, written by a Year 7 pupil of mine after we had been reading ‘The Indian in the Cupboard’ by Lynne Reid Banks. Paul’s story is delightful and I am happy to say that I have followed his very interesting career.
On our short walk today in an dry spell but with a fierce and biting wind, there were several glowing Berberis bushes.
Our lovely neighbour was in China last year and brought us back a beautiful picture of the character which means kindness. We had it framed before Christmas but have only just put it up. What a lovely piece – thank you, S.
I have posted this poem before but it seems to me that in today’s world we all need kindness, for ourselves and for others. I love how the poet captures that awful sinking moment when you think something is lost, those moments when you can’t quite believe that the rest of the world is going on as normal, those moments when something in the news just takes your breath away but kindness from a loved one or from a stranger can make your day work again.
Kindness by Naomi Shibab Nye
Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things,
feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.
Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho
lies dead by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you,
how he too was someone
who journeyed through the night with plans
and the simple breath that kept him alive.
Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you everywhere
like a shadow or a friend.
If you haven’t read The Essex Serpent, do. It is a fascinating story and very beautifully written.
The words above are from a very moving poem by Philip Larkin, reminding us all to be kind.
The mower stalled, twice; kneeling, I foundA hedgehog jammed up against the blades,Killed. It had been in the long grass.I had seen it before, and even fed it, once.Now I had mauled its unobtrusive worldUnmendably. Burial was no help:Next morning I got up and it did not.The first day after a death, the new absenceIs always the same; we should be carefulOf each other, we should be kindWhile there is still time.
The Guardian newspaper printed my letter this morning! There has been ongoing correspondence for the last month about marmalade making and I joined in! Regular readers will know about my marmalade making every January.
Storm Ciara did a good job of flattening our Spring flowers. They were just beginning to perk up when Dennis arrived. The Crocuses and little Iris Reticulata have suffered the most. The Tete a Tete are still standing up.