July is here, and the days are singing their songs of beauty, in all her forms.
The beauty of shadows cast on stone by early evening light.
The beauty of soft blues, and strong blues, and all the blues in between; taking my breath away so fully, so often.
The beauty of feeling the earth, our planetary home, tilting towards the second half of the year; tenderly giving herself over to the darkness that will be ours in the seasons ahead.
The beauty of making sweet treats for the women I love, and covering them with flowers I grew from seed.
The beauty of observing how the sun sets above the trees at a friend’s home for the first time.
The beauty of watching the small babes of friends grow in the summer’s warmth.
The beauty of the sound of torrential rain on the tin roof as the kestrel fledgling shrieks in the night’s indigo sky.
The beauty of taking time, in the busyness of the morning, to paint a rainbow on my feet.
The beauty of going to bed, for the first time in my adult life, at ten o’clock, and sleeping until the morning.
The beauty of a soft boiled egg in the morning as the wrens sing at the front doorstep.
The beauty of finding yarrow growing in abundance in the haggart; in beside the grasses and the thistles.
The beauty, pure and simply, of cornflowers.
The beauty of yellow courgettes, curled, with garlic and lemon juice only.
The beauty of bees moving from rocket flower, to rocket flower, to rocket flower.
The beauty of writing about the body with other mothers.
The beauty of a glass of elderflower, rose, orange & honeysuckle cordial, made by me, in a vintage green stemmed glass.
The beauty of my young son’s laughter as his dada makes funny faces at the breakfast table.
The beauty of wanting to make a large cake for many years, then finally buying the tin, and just making it.
The beauty of driving myself from my rented home to my polytunnel and not making a single mistake.
The beauty of secrets, still mostly mine to savour; awaiting the moment to share.
The beauty of returning, over and over, to the poetry that guides me through.
The beauty of the perfectly speckled mug, like a song thrush.
The beauty of summer; her songs, her deeply healing ways.
What beauty has been nourishing you these last days?
Brightly, X
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and the beauty of your writing xx
The beauty of tuning in and listening to my body, and the wisdom she has to offer, again and again and again 💜