~ 12th May ~
There is a thinness, like glass, to the gaps between the clouds, and as the swifts rise up through them it seems they could go on through, on and on until the limits of the unknown. I wonder, my chest heavy at the thought, what it must feel to be so limitless. As they disappear back down behind the dark row of rooftops I long for their freedom, the sheer thoughtlessness of their cross-continental migrations. What could there possibly be between the limitlessness of swifts and me? That is a space I pray to open, a gap, cloudless, between all that could be, a space of ascension.
~ Sunset ~
I wonder what the bats make of all this, space between the gardens,
waking, upside down (are they light-headed?),
the clatter of dish plates – washing up next door – and the glow of neon solar lights.
Nasheeds hum from another house down the way.
Lights switched on in succession at exposed bedroom windows
(I always close the the curtains first),
as I rumble across the deck trying not to create more disturbance
one flies right above me – round in a loop, the neighbours’ tree.
There is a pair, acrobatics in a dance, once at my eye level (I laugh)
It’s been a strange stakeout, three days I haven’t seen them.
I watched out to the West, the rows of back to back gardens.
A bats’ alley, perfect for swooping, buzzing with moths.
I finish at the table.
Across the deck creeping, the creak of the back door.
To be replaced by the black cat as she climbs up onto the shed roof.
~ 13th May ~
~ Bats, Spiders and Moths ~
At dusk in the garden, I have the sensation of spiders crawling in my hair.
Deep in the roots it lingers, and sometimes into my ears.
I watch the moths dance over the ivied walls, maroon-backed and silver,
ducking down the instant they remember they are prey.
What are we doing if not dancing at dusk?
Our paper bodies cycling under and over whatever we fill our days with.
The sensation of spiders grows, spindling outwards until I dream it encompasses me.
Hunted, I crumble in the web that surrounds me, filigree chains and anchors.
I wait now, watchful at the edge of the tall laurel, to catch the peripheries –
a flicker of frantic wing, bat hunting.
Woken by the lilac sky but clear on a cloudless night, one swoop down and grasp,
in an instant, moth is gone.
~ 16th May ~
On the Names
“Isn’t this the way we find our place, by participating in the life of the world?”
Robin Wall Kimmerer – Gathering Moss
There is something about naming which is key to noticing. That noticing is the enchantment of every day, insignificant events made magical through the appearance of something unexpected and beautiful. Or simply, experiencing the presence of another who is no longer a stranger.
Today it was the tail of a red kite, distinct over the goods yard next to work. It swooped and I saw its ochre wingspan, mottled and shimmery, just a moment to remark upon before it dipped below the roofline, not to return, although I kept looking. I clocked out of work, turned away, unlocked my bike, and entered the portal of the weekend. Not before a meaningful encounter though, and perhaps one that never would have been noticed without the name “red kite”.
Learning the names of things is a magic in itself. A new language, doors of understanding open and a new way of seeing the world becomes available. Or, like spellcasting, words with power and true knowing, of deep soul recognition.
We lay awake last night, Yacoub asking me to recite to him the names – “scientific” ones – that I could remember. Apus apus, swift. A few for owls and eagles. We sat there repeating them to each other, weaving meaning together as we bound ourselves in sleep. According to the Qur’an, the first giver of the names was Adam. Inherently, there is a primordial joy and duty to the naming and speaking of names. A harbinger of humanity, and one I wonder that we are losing, along with so many other signals of such things.
The story of Suleyman gives a new twist to naming. A magician prophet, he asked the creatures and plants directly for their names. Through presence, he could discover the true essence of a thing, then master its powers and uses (for good). Perhaps that is the magic of it all. Simply presence, and invitation to more of it. In the end, his naming abilities spelt his death. He heard it, and accepted it, in the name of the carob tree. That, the cycle of it, also a harbinger of humanity.
~ 31st May ~
Geraniums, their leaves oily and dense as I rub them between my thumb and forefinger, are often enough to remind me of how fully human I am. That I too am enough, with my wildly outstanding to-do list and half built ideas yet to bear fruit. The scented geranium, preferably rose, is an unknowable sort of thing that brings me comfort.
One of the first plants I have bought for each garden I’ve tended, the very first has grown to entirely overwhelm the ironwork on the balcony of our home in Fes. Thriving on neglect, she was once a handspan tall in a little pot, but now has been honoured with a larger terracotta, though her own handspan stretches twenty times its size yet.
In Southsea, outside the back door of our little terraced rental is an unassuming, dumpy pot-full of geranium. Rarely in flower, she wouldn’t strike as gold in our wild garden. Yet to touch, she holds the portal to other worlds, to that balcony in Fes, to distillation pots brewing, to mountain sides of the Mediterranean. She whispers to me that I too am something significant, whatever soil I have grown in and however often I “flower”.
Yesterday, I was initiating a new alembic for a friend. Whispering a thousand prayers as I tenderly worked, we had gathered a host of plant friends rather than just one, to join in honouring the new pots, the garden, and that day. Holding that precious moment as the hydrosol jug slowly filled, I was witness to the sacredness of each of those thousand small moments.
Each day spent, however it may pass. That is all life can ever be, a sequence of unique moments, precious and available for us to be in and to observe. I thank Geranium, for offering me the opportunity to be in this one.
The Atlas Apothecary Sourcebook 