Em-BOG-iment #2

Waiting in the hedges, feeling prickly

It feels like only eternity has passed since our last conversation. No more, no less, than a drop of dew.

Lately it’s all been a little frayed round the edges. Ever since the hawthorn swept me up and brushed me out, I have been slowly coming back for air. Anciently emerging. Hello freshness.

Waiting in the hedges

Mamó, our great Grand Mother is really quite weary. The world is cold and autumnal, as if summer was skipped this year.

And there’s been worry, too, and wrinkles. I guess life is built in cycles - cycles of return, cycles of forgetting, living, regretting and dying. I am no bog, after all, but human. Nobody holds that much damp.

Em-BOG-iment

the act of surrendering to the earth, the turf; descending, merging and releasing. Bleeding, fearing. Fearing the deep unknown and longing to dive into it.

It’s been an odd July, arriving and leaving quickly as the breeze. And maybe it’s not supposed to be ‘easy’. Nothing ever is, even if it isn’t worth having. Because lately time has been unfolding slowly, and then every way and all at once. Sun, mostly rain, and a feeling in the bottom of my belly.

In the last ‘Tricklings’ newsletter we leapt into the depths of the big bad (beautiful) bog — an aspect of our landscape that sings, silently, eternally and one which we as humans have no idea what to make of. Whether it is best to leave things be, to never worry or regret? To get wrinkly? Just keep creating? But what is the weight of those choices. What is the weight of a walk in the woodland, alone? Is there beauty to be found in the waiting? Or is it the want of something itself that is beautiful?

We are already over half way through this year. Things are unravelling, and not in the way we might expect.

This week I wanted to harness some hedges at a time of great edges. For whatever reason, living consists of a lot of waiting. We are all waiting. We are waiting for our whole entire lives. I have found peace in the changing seasons. Beautiful hedges. The foxgloves have shrivelled and so have I. The blossoms are already appearing on the bramble and everything is an act of waiting.

So this is what I hoped. To use the hedgerows as a form of ‘Em-BOG-iment’ if you will.. (some activities to practice below)