And so it is, that I went away and then came back—both on screen, and in reality. And both leaving and returning at times feel like being submerged in water, gasping for air as the onslaught of expectations, responsibilities, ideas and thoughts drown out all sound.
So when I can I have been sitting here, quietly staring out. Sometimes in tune, sometimes so out of tune I’m not sure where I belong anymore.
I miss the road. I miss the freedoms I took for granted. I miss being able to run away when I need to. I miss those first few delicious moments that can stretch into months, when you travel slowly. Those moments where everything is new and clean—like snow—with no mistakes.
But I know we cannot always run. Sometimes we must sit; sit with the heaviness of what is required and expected. Sit with the parts of ourselves we do not care to remember, or sometimes even dislike. Sit with all the junk this stirs up in our minds and try to make some kind of sense.
Sit and simply be until something takes shape beneath restless feet.
We are right where we need to be—I keep telling myself this. And right now I am here in this space online, here in this circular space looking out, with my oldest dog pressed against my side following a mini-stroke and, when I can be, I find myself by the side of my poorly mum, too.
And I’m sometimes happy, sometimes sad, sometimes calm, sometimes mad…but here all the same.
I sit on a stone from a long time past, hands cold as my fingers dance up and down the recorder. Dried gorse rages the fire into life and our friends walk from across the way, smiling through the dark to Highland Mary.
The moon glows in her halo of gold—of cold—and looks down knowingly. The pitch black sky stretches out across the glen; wide and open, long, and filled with possibility. But we… we sit in the warm embrace of this circle of trees, this circle of stones; a circle that has called us home.
Juliette de Bairacli Levy (a herbalist and wanderer I greatly admire) once said that wherever she travelled there was always a little corner of land, or a simple home, available to her. Well it seems our joyful (yet unexpected) return to this croft in the Highlands of Scotland, has brought us to a corner where we can now rest our own weary feet a while.
As Juliette also said:
“Every land has its own special rhythm, and unless the traveler takes the time to learn the rhythm, he or she will remain an outsider there always.”
It has been a while since we have felt the pull to root down, but now the feeling is so strong that as I write this my heart feels light and fluttery, yet my feet—grounded. This land is special and I am awed every day as we walk through winter in her embrace. Trees call to me, earth grasps me, and the sky envelopes me. We are still travellers, but here we are, ready to throw down anchor long enough that we may know and learn the rhythms of this Highland space.
We have come to rest a while; the land says so.
And so that means a dwelling, one fit for these nomadic hearts that so long to stay connected with the earth. One befitting this circle of ancient stone and tree, where robins dwell and hearts swell; where all feels drawn from each corner of our life, towards this central point. So we asked,
“But what shall we live in dear circle?”
And she replied, “Why, a house of sticks of course!”
Driving into the Cairngorms on a day of snow and spectacular skies, we visited a man about a yurt and now the course of our life has taken shape and we have never been more glad, more excited, more in tune.
As poems flow this Burns night
As music dances in our circle
We know we have come to rest
Amongst this land and people.
There is a deeper whisper
There is a hidden call,
And if you listen carefully
It says, “Here you are home.”
And so this Highland Glen
And so this Northern sky
Upon and beneath
We will rest a while.
The other day an interview I took part in twelve years ago was brought to my attention. I ended it by saying,
“I don’t fear change; I embrace it. Whatever happens it will always lead to something else and I never want to live my life wondering what would have happened ‘if’ … the day I don’t follow that if, is the day I will feel that I’m not really living.”
Wise words from my younger self, and so we are embracing this unexpected change and throwing ourselves wholeheartedly into log cabin extensions (facilities) and a yurt base, ready for the arrival of our new home in the spring.
In February 2022 I moved my blog to Substack. There you will find weekly writings (with audio option also), plus you can sign up to have them delivered direct to your inbox.
I hope you will join me there!
Blogs I Enjoy
Our Life Handmade
Raised on Earth
Taking a Kinder Path
Wing and Lens
Carol Anne Strange
I.A.S. Natural Horse Training