February

The shortest month

As someone who has written a book that  explores the idea of time as being a truly surreal, insect like creature — dancing, folkloric, iridescent— somehow I still have found myself shocked by the month of February. By the way it feels like we have had three months instead of three weeks of it. The way it seems, too, as though it has only just begun but already March has been knocking on my green door, full of expectation as well as promise.

Something I find equal parts soothing and surreal is to look back over the pictures on my phone at moments where time feels like it’s acting in ways I’m fairly certain it shouldn’t be. I find that February began at the sea, with our son running full pelt into the blustery Brigid’s winds; reminding us to go ONWARDS, onwards — following a bit of a blow when we didn’t mange to secure the cottage we had hoped was our new home. That day feels like a million years ago. Oh time, you unsettling creature! So much has happened since that day; sometimes short and small things can really pack a punch… Here we are on the very last day of this the shortest month that has felt like it could have been a whole year. Settling into a new home and watching the winter and spring dance together — sometimes the winter gently stepping aside to let spring take her place— other times huffing and puffing and refusing to let go.

What a wild month it has been. We’ve been learning how to be with others again properly, after so long being mostly just us four (big old doggie included). Our son spent time away from us for the first time in his whole life, almost three full hours, and I instantly got sicker than I remember ever being  as soon as he came back. Then we all got sick, and now we are just hoping beyond hope that soon we feel well enough to get back out into the cold spring air.

Before sickness arrived, we did things I’ve long dreamed of being able to do as a family but that weren’t possible due to our isolated location. We went to the woods, started forest school, searched for fairies, went swimming in the public pool as a family, went to the local parks lots, the library too. We attended an open day for a potential pre school, I went to a community seed swap and joined lots of WhatsApp groups to meet with lots of lovely parents and their wee ones. And I worked lots too, as well as trying to settle us all into our new home.

Somehow this all fitted into four short weeks, and somehow it feels like we’ve been doing this for months. And now the world is changing colour. There are pops of purple and yellow all around. I cleared the garden, cut back all the old to make way for the new, and found a single, perfect red anemone.

There are tulips waiting to open, and seeds ready for sowing when I am less needed by my own wee seed indoors. And I’m going to volunteer at our local community garden, something that makes me more happy than I can really verbalise.

Friends came to see us for a few hours on Sunday and we sat in the bright freezing light talking about raspberry leaf and kestrels; sickness and community, and I felt things that have long needed to be let go of loosen themselves and make their way up the lane way towards the bog.

I messaged my friend to tell her that this has been the month when I’ve felt I’ve started to really properly become the mother I want to, not in that I’m acting a certain way or doing certain things but just that for the first time it feels like I’ll be able to really be me, and the people and things around me will receive that me with open arms.

And so I ask you on this last day of the shortest month: what will you take with you from this February into the time ahead?

What beauty will stay with you, born in this month, and remain always?

Reading : I’ve not had time or energy for much this week but I loved Alys Fowler’s first installment of her new column for Caught By The River…and if you’ve not read her Hidden Nature may I suggest you do?!

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Kerri x