Thorns

 

It seems that everything now is thorns. Caught in a thicket there's no easy way out. Every which way we turn, the thorns catch at us. We think we see a path out - but it disappears and instead - we are caught - again. 

In fiction, each fairy story has a dark place in the middle, before the satisfying happy ending. In real life, things often just fall apart. The various strands are not woven together into a harmonious whole... things just... fall apart. 

It seems now the only way is forward, through the very heart of the thicket.

We can do this. One day at a time. Step by step through the thorns. At the far side of the thicket lies freedom, and health. So we'll do this, one step at the time, and no matter the scratches and tears, we're taking each step together. 

thistle

A few months ago, at the New Year, when we were listening to various renditions of Auld Lang Syne and I was remembering a dearly beloved Scottish family friend who died far too early one new year twenty years ago, we went for a walk and the roadside verge was full of thistles. 

I think thistles are a weed wherever you are. In Australia they're a feral. Along with foxes and rabbits thistles are a deadly, invasive species. 

And yet, the sight of them tore at my heart. It's not their fault they're alien and unwanted. Despite knowing the damage they cause, I love their tenacity, their prickles, their soft tones. 

I love the softness of their down, the gentle purple of the flower, the fierceness of their spikes. I love how ephemeral they are, how wild. 

In the all encompassing heat of the Queensland Summer they are a reminder of a place that is cool, that is home, that holds my stories. A place where I am not a feral, but belong. 

I see their tenacity, brief though their lives are. I see the overlooked beauty in their many facets. They are chaotic, an odd mix of soft and harsh. They set my mind dreaming, creating. 

Seeing story. 

Remembering the fae of my family's home-country, building worlds and characters set amidst landscapes where thistledown is a central building block. Trying to avoid the twee world of recent fairy and remembering the Queen Mab and Queen Joan and the eerie, unpredictable and other fae of Shapespeaere and Robert Kirk.  

Celestial

Every day brings new ways of seeing the world. 

My family now have a telescope - a weighty, serious affair that is strictly my Beloved's business to navigate - and we are now seeing the universe in different ways. 

The names of galaxies and nebulas trip of my husband's tongue. I learn them more slowly. In the cool of the night, under the intensely brilliant stars of rural Queensland, we search out the seven sisters or Pleiades. We look at Sirius and I learn the names of dozens of stars I'd never heard of. Most of the time they sound vaguely like something from Star Wars. I discover different names of nebulas. The Spindle. The tarantula. I intend to track down the Emu, which I believe is seen in an absence of stars. (Although I could be wrong. When it comes to space, I generally am.) 

We study the craters of the moon, the way the light falls so differently at different times. I intend to learn the names of all the seas of the moon. My Beloved spouts fascinating scientific facts that I promptly forget and will have to ask him again with pen and paper at hand. I adore being married to a science nerd. 

Our star and galaxy photos are not yet as good as our moon photos and I am itching for the time and energy to use the tripod without the telescope and all the different things I'll be able to capture. 

But for now - the galaxy is ours - waiting at the end of our lens. 

 

Roses

The last place we lived was humid, and the roses surrounding us were hardly worthy of the name. Now we live in a dry place the roses are deeply scented and luxurious.

We have one rose bush in our garden, well established and bearing abundantly wild and sweet scented blooms. I lack the time to give it the attention it deserves, but it is deeply loved. 

It reminds me of fairy stories, Beauty and the Beast, The Sleeping Beauty. It reminds me of the garden of my childhood, where my parents still live, and gathering flowers as a child. It reminds me of beyond the everyday and mundane. 

Sky

I have never seen clouds like them. My youngest daughter and I had gone into the garden to search for tree frogs enticed into the open with the recent rain, but the sky distracted me. 

The rainbow was the most brilliant I had ever seen. Scolded for dereliction of my frog-hunting duty, I tried to pay attention to the hidden life of the ground, but the sky had me desperately taking photos as the light changed with every second. 

The rainbow faded - in it's place were the strangest clouds, rounded and illuminated in eerie pinks. 

I ran inside to fetch the rest of the family - but when I returned they had gone.