If snails could speak
imagine the ponderous space
between utterings
slow soundings of kindness
freed from syllables
their headpieces
tasting wind
so near the earth
following no path,
leaving shiny trails
unnoticed
in their own view
carrying home
as a natural weight
bellies
propelled by ground
their words
in shapes
of silence.
There were four triangles
resting under ice
in my freezer
left there at Christmas
when my sister,
who made them by hand,
went home.
I was prostrate
to listen
that day in the sun
before the grief welled up
and although meditation
sounds like sitting still
my body’s wisdom
turned on the oven
waited for heat
let those four delicacies
warm my kitchen
then my belly.
So when the question arose
that prompted my sobs
knees on the ground
the sweet taste of salt
was already in my mouth
the tears added savour
to unravelled caring
all this love
pointless and deep
lonely
and connected.
The past seven months have been so full of living, some of it quite raw. Deaths and transitions and lots of listening to others’ painful moments. And yet there has been such a sweetness, like a descant adding its melody to the main line of sound. Sources of inspiration this year have included eagles, my husband, the physical space of the round earth room crafted by my friends… water and waves in Australia… the beauty of enjoying both words and silence with the people I love. Dancing. Invoking kindness, and watching it arrive, sometimes with such joyful and quirky synchronicities.