Beast

Two - 2, a photo by elefthis1 on Flickr.

Don't need much excuse for a photo of the late, lamented cat. He wasn't posed for this shot, honestly. I just came into the room and there he was sitting calmly alongside his miniature double. I grabbed the camera.

This is my entry for this week's Photo Friday challenge "Beasts".

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Today it feels the world has stopped on its axis. No drama or crisis in this little corner of the planet, just a grey, damp and very still January day with no percepible movement in the immediate surroundings. There is a low-key, understated beauty around if you look and listen for it: the first snowdrops; the silence; the complex silhouettes of the trees with clumps of misletoe dotted at various points through the branches - the latter a sure sign of the cleanliness of the air, or so I'm told.

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I've started chanting again.  Thirty years or so ago I was given a mantra, and it suits me.  I've always loved voicework and singing and the morning and afternoon ritual of sitting down and sending out the sounds has become a necessary part of my day now.  All sorts of benefits are supposed to derive from it and I'm not dismissive of the claims.

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The sorting through and chucking out of stuff continues with DVDs currently in the frame. I'm watching each one again before reaching a decision. Today it's Raising Arizona (charity shop). Yesterday was Hideous Kinky (also charity shop). A few days ago, The Chorus (a definite keeper).

It's all preparation for the new life chapter. In actual fact I'm dubious about this concept of new chapters: barring the major stuff of life - sudden accidents or illness, bereavement, house moves and so on - minutes, hours and days merge and flow into each other without definite endings and beginnings.   I mean when I'm able to be out and about more, to be a social animal again who has much less time to watch DVDs.

Fuzzy

So it's been grey and stormy (though we inland-dwellers have had it easy compared with those on the coast, many of whom have been flooded out) but today is peaceful and, intermittently, sunny.  In the ongoing decluttering campaign this morning I've thrown out a box of wooden toothpicks and some unusable wrapping paper and ribbon, and have put a pair of salad servers and a random wooden fork in the bag for the charity shop.  Ridiculously satisfying to be doing this; gradually remedying some of the chaos of the past five years when stuff piled up simply because I didn't have the focus or energy to decide what to do with it.   Energy levels are still pretty low and probably will be for months more but in a way this is good; stops any risk of overreaching.   I'm laying the physical foundations for the rest of my life, it's my last chance to do this and the process can't be rushed.  Reconstruction takes time.

Seem to be losing my knack with a camera as well.  Perhaps my hand shakes more than it did.  Fuzzy is the word for most of my recent photographic attempts, but I'm fond of these.

It's Christmas Cactus season.

Daybreak

Very early morning, pre-dawn, in my dressing gown I carry the filled charity shop bag to the front lawn for collection.   A warm wind from the west, soft as a caress, with the faintest scent of flowers and pine.  High above the waning crescent moon says her farewells to the current lunar cycle.

Most of the bag is filled with old books.  I have a schizophrenic relationship with books these days because as fast as the old ones are given away new ones are being ordered; second hand all, so bankruptcy isn't too much of a threat.  In my defence, reading still has to be the primary occupation.   I've just ordered a copy of Katherine Mansfield's Letters and Journal - my previous one fell apart a few years ago I re-read it so much.  Also I'm currently addicted to Lawrence Block's Matt Scudder detective novels.  Very dark but riveting, particularly if you know New York.  At some point I'm going to have to get a Kindle.

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A couple more butterfly photos. The underside of the Small Tortoiseshell's wings is less showy than the upper surface but equally beautiful.

 

Movement

Sunshine and brief showers today with a warm southerly wind  that carries along with it these cloud formations that change with the passing second. This is the sort of summer weather I like. 
 
The letting go continues and a lady called Lin is coming to pick up the cat basket tomorrow afternoon. I've tried to live a well-adjusted life.  I mean love and stability and companionship and job and belonging.   Money only as a means to an end. Nothing has worked - and the higgledy piggledy pile of books and possessions that I'm sorting through demonstrate this.   Massage books (can't do massage any more, nor do I want to). How To books. Crafts that were abandoned.  Co-dependency books. Journals.  Detritus all. Being ill has given me the space to understand to that indeed nothing could have worked. Not with me being the way I was and everything and everyone else around me being the way they were.  The fit was never there.

Stripped to the core. Feeling like a newborn at 64 years old. It's a relief to be this age and not to worry about so much that used to distress me. Each thing I surrender - and I do so willingly and with relief - stokes the fire that moves me forward. 

Decluttering

A good day.  More energy.  Major decluttering in the kitchen, the logic being while I'm sorting out my digestive system in the spirit of fengshui why not spring clean the surroundings as well and maybe help things along. Deeply embarrassing to discover so many food items in the cupboards that were way past their sell-by dates. I mean two or three years. Mainly stuff in tins and packets.  So they go on the compost or into the bin. I hate throwing food out but it's got to be done and the streamlined shelves and cupboards are now a joy to behold.

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I've recently discovered Ann Cleeves and her northern detective stories and I'm hooked.  Brain fog means that of late crime fiction is pretty much all I can focus on, and she is very good. 

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The silver birch sways languidly in the fresh north-west breeze and the evening sun warms the brickwork. The horse chestnut is clothed in a pale green mist, not yet leaves but no longer buds. Dandelions, daisies and forget-me-nots have sprung up on the lawn. I'm happy to see them all, even the dandelions.  No, especially the dandelions - there's something so cussed and undaunted and cheerful about them, as if they know they're not always welcome and they don't care.

Like I said, a good day. It finally feels like spring.