The Pillow Book of Prudence . . .
Sometimes we must recognize sadness in our lives because it is real and must be dealt with. Sometimes even the half-full glass must seem half-empty.
Things that are sad:
Hearing that a cousin may have leukaemia. That another distant friend has once more succumbed to breast cancer. That ewes reject the weaker twin as they give birth. The cries of that weak twin. That my fritillaria bud has been broken by one of our not-so-friendly possums. That both the Border Collie and the elder Jack Russell are utterly deaf and losing their sight and must be walked on leads to give them a feeling of security. Pakistan. Australian soldiers in Afghanistan. That the ruptured ligaments are behaving in a totally unsuitable way and causing undue pain. There are many sad things in our lives which could drown us if we let them which is why one must balance things out with . . .
Things that are not sad:
That medicine has moved so far in the treatment of leukaemia. That mothering ewes may often think twice and retrieve the weak lamb, or that other grieving ewes may mother the sickly lamb themselves. That my horse neighs every time he sees me. That the Border Collie and the elder Jack Russell walk slowly with me, enabling me to enjoy a walk with them. That I can ride a four wheeler. That my friend with breast cancer is currently O/S having a wonderful time. That there are other fritillaria buds in the same pot. That where there is life there is hope and that the sun shines and Spring is but a few days away on the calendar and the beginning of daylight saving is only a month away. That friends are kind and family is all.
On the twenty fourth day of the eighth month I am realising how much I love writing. In particular how much I love writing The Sheriff’s Collector. I am also thrilled to be working in a collaboration with Bo Press on a miniature Chinese Curio Cabinet and which has seduced me back into the writing of The Shifu Cloth on which the cabinet is based. Four months ago, I wondered if I could bear the dark winters’ days and in fact winter proved to be overloaded with sunlight and Antarctic blue skies. In addition, those not so dark days have sped by so that Spring ruffles her skirts every time I ‘walk’ outside the door. Already there have been seven weeks since my spectacular un-fall on the stairs and I have made friends with my turqoise JP Tods again and whilst I won’t wear them on the stairs, or where I have to turn suddenly or . . . whatever, I shall wear them again. And as I count the little number of days to Spring, I realise it is only moments until we begin to use the boat again and head to the island beaches.
You see, there are glad moments in sad, if we take the time to find them.
While your winter days slip into spring, our summer is melting away into fall–both reasons to be grateful. Beautiful post, thank you!
Your fall is the most majestic time, Rowenna. And what a superb name for it: fall . . . simple, self-explanatory and the imagery of scarlet and gold leaves fluttering down is implicit.
In Australia we have deciduous trees planted in private and public gardens but our forests are evergreen (smoky blues and washed out greens) and autumn is generally a name that we use to determine a season change. Although we are beginning to notice only two marked changes now: summer and winter.
Awww. Sad to happy. I like that.
One can’t dwell on sadness for too long. To paraphrase eastern philosophy: ‘all life is sadness.’ Buddha went on to say, I believe, that acceptance is the key and then the balance re-asserts itself. Sounds good and hopefully the Pillow Book reflects that.
Ah, Prue – you do know how to keep a girl going in the middle of a tiring week 🙂
That sunshine award is well deserved, indeed.
And fritilaria are always a Good Thing.
Glad it helps, Claire? Take it carefully, you’ve got a lot happening.