I've been pondering for a while now how to start this blog. Although I write a lot it seems a little strange to be writing about me and my life. I don't do much or really go anywhere, I don't live an exciting, fast paced life. What could I write that anyone would want to read? And yet the urge to do so has been getting stronger by the day. I've spent a lot of time over the last few days waiting for inspiration to strike as I stared at a blank screen. I've written a bit, deleted a bit, written some more and deleted that too; blogging isn't as easy as it looks! I put a lot of it down to the headache from hell that I've been doing my best to ignore for the last few days but that's a lame excuse.
Finally yesterday afternoon, in utter frustration and a cloud of pain I decided to drag myself out for a walk. Not far, just up to the fields on the edge of the cliffs but as I left the rows of neat little houses behind and stepped out into that open space I felt a shift. Subtle and slight, but a shift all the same; an easing of pressure, a sense of calm. I walked around the edge of the fields, keeping one eye on the hedgerow, making a mental note of the progress of the blackberries, hazelnuts and sloes. This time last year the summer had been so wet that blackberries were rotting on the bushes still green but this year there is the promise of a bountiful harvest. I picked a few, already ripe and sweet and delicious, but it will be another week or two I think before they are plentiful. And when I felt I could walk no more I found a bench, close to the coast path but hidden away from sight amongst the bushes, and simply sat.
I don't know how long I sat there; maybe half an hour, maybe two. (I was annoyed with myself when I lost my watch a few weeks ago but now I'm rather enjoying the lack of awareness of the passage of time. It's strangely liberating.) I sat watching the waves, tiny in the distance, and the dancing of the sun on the moving water, like a million, million diamonds. The only sounds were birdsong and children's laughter being carried on the breeze from the town beach. And then I knew what to write about...or rather how to write it. The freedom I found up there on the cliffs is always there, a thread running through my life; holding it together when it might otherwise fall apart. It is a part of me, therefore a part of my writing. I should not be planning and over-thinking; I should not be structuring and labouring on something that should be free and flowing. I didn't need to know what I should write about. I should just write, dive right in.
So here I am, diving in. I might not make sense to you dear reader, if I skitter from topic to topic. I might confuse you with my dithering or repeat myself or tangle myself up in knots as I try to explain something I've not fully grasped myself, but this is me. Wayward, eccentric, dithery (sometimes), home-loving, wild and free. Here I will talk about the magical and the mundane; the mysteries of the landscape and the kitchen; you will get glimpses of my life, my faith, my magical practice, my crafts, my garden, my home. Whether you walk this journey with me or pop by just once in a while; even if you walk away, never to return, I bid you a warm welcome to this window on my life.
Oh, and that headache? Gone. Blown away on a sea breeze...now that's magic.