1st June
“You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star.” ~ Friedrich Nietzsche
Sometimes I have to just close my eyes and allow my full senses to surge, to feel the uninterrupted movement of air pass across my skin, my face. The micro movements of my eyelashes are mirrored by the grasses, my flushed freckled cheeks dapple seamlessly into the wildflowers and clovers. And glint and shimmer as brightness burns through tissue skin. Iris reflects the sky. Hair reflects the meadow hay, and a bumble bee nestles in.
11th June
The ground is dry, the bog is dry, my footsteps crunch when they should pad softly on the earth. In many ways this feels like an otherworldly time. Scorched plants and radiant heat. The dragonflies search for water, found in muddy crevices between sphagnum and sundew. But this place is the hope of it all – it is resilient and soaked beneath the surface.
And, while the cotton grass billows in the shade and the pine emits a scent straight from heaven, I sit and wonder. I push my fingers into the moss and I let my eyes track the flash of blue dragonflies. It is silent beyond their hum. I wonder if this will all survive, if the pines won’t fall and if the earth won’t turn to dust.
21st June
Midsummer melancholia. It’s difficult to not feel sad as the longest day passes. I’ve spent the last week in a daze, as time stretches out before me, tentatively offering so much. Late nights spent sky watching, a rush of life. Images fluttering through, sporadic but connected by light.
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