Winter light on moss, falling…

on loving the world (still)

As of yesterday, this wee bird has been on my left hand lower arm for six years.

Six years sober.

Six years living in the light.

Six years of being in this world in a way I know I could not if I were a drinker, still.

Six years of loving the world, still.

I woke up yesterday to the kind of light that only exists in our world the morning after a storm.

Metallic; dazzling; violet tending towards white.

Everywhere: stars.

I had a day full of joy, stillness and magic.

A day full of love and making and holding.

In the morning a Cork man at the car boot sale was trying to sell me a Kelly kettle (I really want one but have an entire derelict stone cottage to make liveable before I’d even consider such a purchase!) and he said, about the kettle, a very typical Corkonian phrase I’ve not heard for an age:

What he meant was : I bought this for a small fortune, never used it , am selling it for the exact price I purchased it for because actually I love it, still.

I’m still not over it.

This wonderful, beautiful thing, this thing I wish I could give myself over to fully; properly.

It touched me, so so so deeply; to hear that phrase again yesterday morning.

This was sunset a few days before my six year soberversary, my young son skipping along a wild boreen behind the home he’s spent the most time in in his wee life, swans calling overhead, a single goldcrest singing down from the ivy in the tallest tree.

I’M STILL NOT OVER IT, like.

And this is my favourite field on earth, the field that gave me back to myself after the long years of matrescence, and all the grief I’ve been given as my own , on the morning of the winter’s first snow. My son and I stomped up the hill , and ran down the lower hill of this lower field, all before any light had reached us from all the places it comes from.

I stood, snow underfoot, with the most unspeakable kind of healing in my heart.

This field, and the ways she mothers me, oh my.

And, the thing is : I’M STILL NOT OVER IT, like.

This Thursday 28th November 12-2 on GMT, on zoom, we’ll gather to find new ways to write about this NOT BEING OVER the world.

About loving this our beautiful, tender, miraculous planetary home.

About being with and of this earth, and about loving her, still.

Investment €20-40 as per means.

To join us, email inchwhooperswan@gmail.com

The world, still so beautiful, is so worthy of our love.

Let’s hold her gently as winter light begins to fall.

Six whole years trying to find the words for this glory; this goodness; this magic; this beauty.

Six whole years of being alive.

Six years of loving this world, still.

Of loving myself , too; the one wee small star of me, nestled in amongst her exquisite , brightly shining constellations.

In brightness,

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