I tell myself I’ve come here to think something through. Something I’ve been thinking about that could do with a walk to get it straight. But as soon as I arrive I know the place isn’t going to put up with that. Because the place itself wants to be noticed. And in the noticing my nagging thoughts melt away. Which is probably what I’ve really come here for anyway.
I’m on the Shining Shore, the walk around Thurstaston that’s been one of my main meditation places, alone and with Sarah, for many years now.
I’m in the middle of my week and a half of not working and I’ve come for an afternoon out on the Wirral. Some walking, some reading and my lunch is in my bag.
Usually I have a sit in the churchyard here, but the benches are all roped off at the moment because of falling tiles from the roof.
You’ll be realising by now that these are not strictly their botanical names. I’ll ask Sarah to go through them with me when she gets in, then I’ll look as if I know what I’m talking about! Sarah’s identifications now added.
By now my mind is full of observing the springtime, the quiet miracle of it, the planet renewing itself. The colours that only happen just now, like these newborn leaves.
And never noticed this before.
Time for lunch, a sit and a read.
The tide is just beginning to turn but I’ve already decided I don’t want to walk along the shore today. Now the boulder clay cliffs are seriously eroding the beach is often full of heavy, sticky boulder clay, making walking along it less than a pleasure sometimes.
An elemental afternoon in one of my favourite places. No big conclusions were drawn or even considered. I am human, alive in this place in the springtime of the year. Which is enough.