As I look out into my garden I see evidence of what exactly? Life? Renewal? Climate change? It’s winter here in the UK and everything should be shut down. The earth should be frost-solid, the greens limited to the muscular evergreens, not daffodils and fushias. The lawn has already had a mow and pond skaters play chicken with the birds who’ve given up on all the hassle of migration and settled in for an unlikely early spring break.
I know there has to be a price. Cicadian rhythms demand we renew at night. Nature does the same over winter allowing time off from fecundity and fertility. Without a pause, there will be consequences. Not this year perhaps, or next. But diseases will not be killed off, stocking up strength will not happen.
I went shopping on Tuesday and dropped off a key to be cut. ‘Pop back when you’ve finished,’ the man said. I was only going to be gone an hour. But I only remembered today. Senior moment, maybe. But I’m not alone in needing my brain to be defragged to create more memory space.
In the run up to Christmas the operative word is ‘run’. Maybe, these days we should say sprint up or bolt up. It’s talked of as a holiday time but pretty much all one hears is rush and stress and more rush.
We cram. It starts so young what with play dates and one o’clock clubs where our little treasures are given sensory overloads and constant unremitting stimulation. We are all at it. Even the garden. Constant activity.
The world of humans is turbulent and we watch as lives tumble and twist seemingly out of control. We talk about wishing for peace, in the sense of an absence of conflict. But my wish is for a peace too, but in the sense of an absence of activity. It’s what we all need.