The words will return, eventually...

Lately, life has been fractured and fraught.

From pain that won’t leave me to plans that have had to frequently change, I’ve been doing my best to lean into this season of life with a gently extended hand and a light touch but to be honest the perfectionist in me has struggled hugely. I’ve been cross, spikey and oh so snappy. My sharp tongue and Scorpio tail have lashed out far too frequently. It’s been hard to see this version of me (pain-filled and frustrated) lash out at those who I love the most.

To add to this messy mix, my writing practice has taken a back seat for most of this year and any semblance of routine has been punctuated by interruption. Against the backdrop of many rejections and some precious things that have come to an end, it’s been a time when life has shown me that change is constant and that if I keep trying to butt my head against any time of change or transition, I will come a cropper.

In between it all, wisps and flickers of poems have been flapping around my head like plastic caught in a hedgerow. A lack of sleep and new pain relief medication has left my brain feeling fuzzy and addled, the words that I so wish to collect and store slip instead through my hands like sand. The push and pull of desperately wanting to write and yet not being able to has left me feeling bereft and annoyed.

If you open my notes app right now, there are so many fragmented notes with half-started poems, essays and 3AM thoughts. So many half-written things, so many submissions not sent and so many words that are still unwritten. These half-written things are a testament to the unsettled state of being that seems to have taken up residence in my head right now…

And yet.

In amongst it all have been the most glorious private invisible joys that have kept me afloat during this very strange time. Just this week, as I returned from a brief yet gloriously soul-warming trip to see some family and some of my oldest and dearest friends in London, the swallows arrived back on our lane.

Ever since we moved here, they have been a welcome and timely reminder of the circularity and seasonality of life.

Against all odds, they find their way back…

As I look to mend and recover over the coming weeks, I’m taking a lead from the swallows and trusting that eventually I will find my way back to the page and hopefully a way back to me. I’m looking forward to watching them soar and race overhead, to hearing their telltale chitter and chatter and to letting this time of transition and change carry me along.

Just for today, I’m taking a moment to appreciate these five minutes I’ve taken to sit down and return to my words… And I’m grateful for the muddle and mess of my notes app that led me to finding a poem that I wrote a few weeks ago and that I’ve shared below.

An invitation to you… What can carry you through?

To make a poem 

Add two parts hope

Two parts despair

Sprinkle in a handful of tears

Then add half a teaspoon of fear

Fold in the kiss from a familiar one

Fry up some private joy till it caramelises

Stir in some unexpected laughter from the room next door 

But don’t forget to add a dollop of grief 

Beat in courage 

Poach the leftover hope 

Then grate in all the time we take for granted 

Sauté the things left unsaid 

Lastly, blend in some forgiveness 

Add one last drop of grief 

Season with some salt 

(Maybe a dash of optimism to taste)

Then leave to stand

Thank you so much for reading.