A lifeline given
Hope in the midst of darkness
A lamp lights our path.
In praise of healing
Night Running
Running has taken a new form since the evenings have become so dark, even before six .
It takes ages to get ready – head torch , fluorescent jacket and nifty lights for the back of my ankles in green and red ( can never remember which way round for port and starboard)!
Once out – it’s great . Total freedom . I’m running slightly slower on account that I can’t really see far in front of my feet and the lanes are running in water. Tonight was a gentle 5.5 km. Despite heavy showers, I stayed dry – unlike yesterday when I got soaked over half an hour.
I am so thankful to feel safe running in the lanes.
Advent
Visitors bring their esoteric truths;
Friends their empathy’s are quickly shared;
Not one,but many, think by chance a country so could run.
What of these problems
Of the year?
Maudlin talk from television screen
Broadcast hourly into every home;
When lockdown lifts this time tomorrow
New tiers to grasp
Wrangling in every sphere;
Oh to leave the record that is spun
To head outside into quiet stillness there;
To feel my feet on sodden winter soil;
The natural degradation of the year;
The rhythms that propel us through the seasons
By one who order out of chaos formed.
To Him we wait in patient expectation
His advent how we need it so much more.
1st Sunday in Advent
Mist low in the valley
Hangs
As the sun cuts through;
The cold
Burns as the stride breaks
Molecular strands;
The breath is cut short
As feet pass
Sheep which stationary
Lie
In quiet contemplation make
Silver of advent dew sparkles
In drifts of white
The damp tarmac glistens
A royal pathway
In clouds descending.
From Darkness to Light
Let the light glow
Into the obsidian
Turn one grey pebble
Open the book and turn
The page
Rule a clean line
Start a new day.
Sunday slow run
Out came the hat and fluorescent jacket and 6.5 km completed but have lost my Fitbit – it doesn’t feel like it counted!
Wet, muddy and getting dark, but restorative nonetheless.
Islands of existence
Like an island chain-
An archipelago
Are we islands of existence?
Do our minds separate-
Compartmentalise?
Hold onto secrets of the past
Sailing to when we’re adrift?
Memories we return to
Like favoured holidays past?
Ferry crossings back and forth
Until we leave for good?
Or strands we take with us on our journey;
Connections, patterns,identities
Drawn through time and space
Threads of gossamer tracing the stars
In laminar flow;
Those we love
Those we meet
Those we pass
A twinkling light
A warning flare
Perchance we cross
Or is it so?
The chart etched out in perfect ordinance
Each choice is ours
Each decision
Freely given
To navigate those paths
With love.
Latin isn’t dead
Latin isn’t dead ; it’s immortal.
Carpe diem !
The broken shoreline
A walk along the broken shoreline;
The ragged waves crash against the rise;
Wind and rain drive
Near horizontal;
The spray is mixed with mist
Along the line.
The grey sea ever deepens in its movement
The sky sinks closer to it still;
The noise grinds relentless in the union;
Spirits are lifted higher than before.
Woodland in Splendour
Branches- pendulous and jewelled-
Leaf dots of orange and yellow,
Stippled against silvery papered
Slender trunks;
The birch- a key player on the woodland edge;
Along the track we
Descend steeply into
The dense forest-
Alight with fiery glow
Above the wide smooth trunks of beech;
A kaleidoscope of colour-
Ambers and tortoiseshell-
Vintage greens and golds
Knit the canopy above
Like fairy lights;
Dense Holly
Statuesque below
Holds bright berries above
Glossy leaves
The woodland floor
Is carpeted by a
Deep dry fallen leaves
Bright limed fronds of ferns and moss
Cling to the forest banks
The purple smudges of whortleberries
Are long gone
Glimpsed through broken foliage
Filigreed fingers
Across the valley
Where Bare trees
Naked
Line the ridge
Their form with distinct shapes
Textbook drawn.
Woodland in splendour.
Ruth Partridge 