For what feels like weeks (wet weeks, weeping weeks…), the rain does not cease for a moment. I walk through great puddles up on the moor, the water having nowhere to go until the water table drops. Table is an odd word to describe the saturation of the earth, don’t you think? I imagine all the water from the sky filling earthenware pots, standing on an immense table, a table of water. We have a bucket standing on our deck, left behind after last year’s building work. It is brimful with water and that was before the rains began. When we first announced we were moving to Devon, people who no longer lived in Devon informed us that we would find that
I loved this piece and Mary Oliver’s words which describe so well the necessary movement between different parts of ourselves and how hard it can be to move from one to another.
December I’m London felt boggy and I have lifted myself out of the cloying mud to find summer in Tasmania. I don’t know how much we need winter to regenerate the seeds of our souls? Or does reflective time in the sun have a similar effect? I’ll let you know!
Someone once said to me that he liked the rain... for the first fourteen days. It made me laugh. You sum it up above with the idea that the rain became a way of life rather than an event. Your writing took me right back to our wet December, which is juxtaposed with this cold dry day. However your daily self matches my daily self with no juxtaposition - I too am facing admin. My child self and creative/spiritual self always rebels against it. Maybe I should just stop fighting Lynne, and accept the ebb and flow. Your piece absolutely hit the spot - thank you.
The juxtaposition of this with our early wet-wet winter of New England floods was profound. I've also been working on revising a long essay, "Two Thirds Water" (a two-part draft on my Substack), so have lots of water in/on my spiritual brain of late. Lovely writing, as always.
The contrast between Devon and Spain is stark. I've spent a few winters in Valencia where the air is usually dry, if cold. And here, in the east of England, I'm sheltered as the rain tends to fall first in the west. I really enjoyed reading this post, Lynne. So much wet, so much life in it too. Wonderful writing.
A thought-provoking piece Lynne, gloriously written. Reading it in the bath as the rain lashes against the window. The gap between storms so short.
I loved this piece and Mary Oliver’s words which describe so well the necessary movement between different parts of ourselves and how hard it can be to move from one to another.
December I’m London felt boggy and I have lifted myself out of the cloying mud to find summer in Tasmania. I don’t know how much we need winter to regenerate the seeds of our souls? Or does reflective time in the sun have a similar effect? I’ll let you know!
Someone once said to me that he liked the rain... for the first fourteen days. It made me laugh. You sum it up above with the idea that the rain became a way of life rather than an event. Your writing took me right back to our wet December, which is juxtaposed with this cold dry day. However your daily self matches my daily self with no juxtaposition - I too am facing admin. My child self and creative/spiritual self always rebels against it. Maybe I should just stop fighting Lynne, and accept the ebb and flow. Your piece absolutely hit the spot - thank you.
Great piece! And I loved the photos. Very evocative.
I loved reading your words again. i experienced rainy frustration, and you saw the juxtapositions and yourself reflected in the water. Beautiful
The juxtaposition of this with our early wet-wet winter of New England floods was profound. I've also been working on revising a long essay, "Two Thirds Water" (a two-part draft on my Substack), so have lots of water in/on my spiritual brain of late. Lovely writing, as always.
Good stuff Lynne! Amazing how quickly the water table has dropped here. Everything soaked and flooded, now frozen and dry.
The contrast between Devon and Spain is stark. I've spent a few winters in Valencia where the air is usually dry, if cold. And here, in the east of England, I'm sheltered as the rain tends to fall first in the west. I really enjoyed reading this post, Lynne. So much wet, so much life in it too. Wonderful writing.