Persimmon Tree:  Bury Me Amid Nature’s Beauty and I will Reclaim a Sense of Self

Here, the language of flowers and their delicate beauty depict a personal experience of mental health.

The Devil and his accomplice visit me once more, embedding Sorrow into the very core of my being.  It is as if I Wound to Heal and each time I do I am drawn towards the magical and ethereal beauty of an external world that I am not wholly connected to.  I have forgotten who I truly am and I cry through tears of anguish and pain, Forget Me Not!  

But, as I hear the softly spoken words ‘You Are My Life’ carried to me by the wind, Faith in my ability to heal slowly returns.  I am Consoled with the promise that Hope brings a Return to Happiness.

And as I bury myself amid the beauty of this world, I know I will reclaim a sense of self.


Autumn Walks

As summer comes to an end, the air hangs heavy with a haunting melancholy that signifies the end of a life cycle.  Autumn, a season that embodies change has arrived and I embrace this time of year hungrily.

I take long walks in the glorious autumnal glow, mesmerised by the sun’s rays permeating through the branches of trees, suffusing leaves with its luminous light. Vivid shades of browns, golds and amber are illuminated with a comforting warmth against the cold, blue sky.

I stomp over dry, crisp leaves that have fallen to the ground and listen to the crunching underfoot with delight.  Warm textured tones cover the landscape.  The Lammermuir Hills splashed with rich russet browns.  Pheasants, startled by my presence, flap raucously with cumbersome movement from the deep brown undergrowth that camouflage them so well.

I walk over hills and through small deciduous woodland. I slowly breathe in, satisfying my senses with the earthy scent of autumn that emanates from the dank, moist soil that covers the woodland floor. I stop to pick berries in various colours –  vibrant red, crimson, soft flushed pink and white.

And, as I make my way back to the village, to Garden House, I can smell burning wood carried by the gentle breeze from chimneys on rooftops of my neighbours’ homes.

These are my autumn walks.


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