Dearest Kimberly, I am not sure you ever stop glowing! I loved the beautiful film you made with Troy so very much, thank you for sharing it with us - I just made it to the end, albeit two minutes behind everyone else, before the wifi cut completely!
I think to be aware in nature is our only calm at the moment Michela, I know you would agree! Thank you for being here - I hope you find a peaceful day awaiting you. xx
The greatest philosophy comes from struggle as people through the ages try to understand, just to understand the foolishness and blindness and all the other things to reveal something of us all.
The greatest poets come from struggle as they refuse to look away and feel the world so cleanly and slice through all the the foolishness and blindness and all the other things to reveal something of us all.
Thanks for being such a philosopher and poet there on the hill, Susie and through your writing revealing something of us all.
Jonathan, as always I am humbled by your words, the fact that you, one of my favourite philosophers, read mine... thank you.
I am far from certain of ever being any great poet or philosopher but I will continue to try and I refuse to look away, either from the horror and foolishness or the calm and the utter beauty that prevails despite it.
The past week has been a torture on the grandest of scales I am speechless!
Thank you so much dear Fotini, and I am sending filled watering cans from my over-flowing well your way, with a prayer for rain hidden within. I haven't forgotten you, catching up very soon lovely one - life has taken over - one more week and I'll be breathing normally again...xx
I've been eating apricots this week. And cherries. Fresh and perfectly ripe. And the best, sweetest, most perfect melon that I have tasted in years, purchased at a fruit stand half way across the state after a lunch of fresh asparagus tamales (who knew), at a perfect little hole in the wall joint in a tiny town in orchard and vineyard country, with Mary.
Each of these sensual masterpieces is made sweeter because it is so fleeting, because I know it is 'now,' not tomorrow, when perfection and I may meet, face to face ...and smile.
It is today.
I'm telling you.
And I'm rooting for you ...those days that approach, those moments...
Perfection; not wanted, not interrupted, not just beyond reach,
My dear David, I am so thankful for you! Apricots you say, and cherries too, a fine feast indeed, one I that will not adorn my table this summer but can taste vicariously - thank you for such sweet juicy reminders. At the start of a week - already feeling like the worlds hardest obstacle course - they are much needed and deeply appreciated.
It is to be hot here, not a balmy hot, the type where I wake refreshed, smiling as I fling open the shutters, grateful for another beautiful summers day, no, no! This morning I seriously consider the sense in moving at all, I consider joining the tiny Pipistrelle bats in the cool of our caves - French for cellars - or setting up camp by the swimming hole because they might just be the only sure way of reaching the end, I won't think of the two hours of rugby scheduled for this morning, neither the French evaluations after lunch...
Such temperatures as we have now are unusual in June, normally restricted to one fleeting day of breathlessness but this is week two... In the middle of the first a tornado tore up the hill like a herd of raging bulls, nostrils flaring and breathing fire, they trampled ancient oaks to their death, pylons too, tore off roofs and littered the fields and lanes with debris enough to fill a whole fleet of dustcarts! Perhaps you know this violence already, alas, we do not - a tornado in France is not normal, no Siree!
I'm holding tight my friend... five more days, just five!
A tornado, on a hill in France? Good grief! I grew up with them, in Oklahoma and then Tennessee, knew to run to the culvert, to open all the windows in the house to equalize the pressure, to hide in the bathtub. But tearing up your hill, halfway around the world. I fear that we have, collectively, really, really pissed off the gods. Strange things everywhere. And that heat, that I do understand. It feeds the reptile in me in ways I store up for getting through winter, but the weight and lethargy are debilitating. Swimming is absolutely the best oasis in such an oven of days. Ahhh, the Pipistrelles... with a dad known as Batman, you can bet I've held my share of Pips, and Big and little Browns, and Mexican Freetails, and... Time in the 'caves' sounds like a perfect place to realign your overtaxed senses. I'm rooting for your upcoming release from the chains of responsibility and adulting, and wish you an active dreamlife in the meantime. Five more days means five more nights to travel into your future, imagining wonders and kindnesses, and preparing yourself to be delighted with days ahead where no one owns you. May they be sweet.
Dear Susie, I want to tell you how I have read and re-read your words, how they envelop me with their beauty, their mournful sorrow, their glistening hope. How I am in awe of the way, despite how “the days bounce off the calendar like a string of broken beads”, you still steal my heart away with your stories of sun ghosts and liquid amber, of silken threads and hares that leap and dance, of barbel in olive ponds, painted ladies and bottling tilleul blossoms.
I want to tell you how precious is the gift of words you share, how ‘words’ does not begin to describe the magic you bring to my mornings, when I sit and read and you cast enchantment over my day, transporting me to sit beside you on an alder stump by the water and watch a dragon bury something in the bank.
I want to tell you that, despite us having known each other such a short time, that having never met in person, I feel that we are old old friends, and that you seem to know my heart better than I have known it myself.
I want to tell you how I long to abandon everything, children, dogs, husband, responsibilities, and travel immediately to join you on your hill, to wander her paths, to smell the blossom and lie down in the long grass and watch the clouds, and pretend that wars and wannabe kings do not exist…
I want to tell you that I will carry this gift from you through my day of emails and reports, urgencies, planning and deadlines and meetings, Andy day will be lighter for it…
Oh Emily, my heart… what a message to receive. I read it slowly, then again, then once more—and each time it brought tears to my eyes. What a luminous gift you’ve given me in these words, this letter full of kinship and shimmering kindness on a day when I fear our dear MN is all out of kindnesses for human beings...
To know that my little patch of hill and all its flickering creatures and glimmers of sorrow and hope have found their way into your mornings—it means more than I can say. You know already I sometimes write with a lump in my throat, indeed with tears flowing, unsure if I’ve said anything right at all… and then along comes someone like you, who understands not just the words, but the silence behind them too.
That feeling of old friendship, of shared threads winding quietly between us—I feel it too. Isn’t it one of the strangest and most beautiful things, how words can gather people close across miles and years unmet?
Come lie in the long grass anytime, even if only in your imagination, though if you ever do abandon everything, I’ll be here with chilled tilleul and a spare sunhat and always a hug and a smile, though likely the tears will fall agin but this time with joy!
Thank you—truly—for this. I’ll carry your words with me too, like a talisman against the clatter of the world.
It is very warm, although perhaps not so warm here are it’s gets on the hill, 30oC yesterday — and I had the day off work so was able to not rush about in it, thankfully. Although today is hotter, and I am working. I hope the next four days pass swiftly and stress free for you xx
Thank you for reading Carmine, between writing this and now we were hit by a mini tornado, the devastation is heartbreaking - I had to hold my heart so firmly as I watched great oaks ripped from their ancient homes - every year these storms are worse and I fear we will never learn that unless we pay deeper attention dear MN will be more and more incapable of hiding her disappointment in us. 😔xx
And I want to tell you Lor, I wish you were holding my hand when a mini tornado hit us Wednesday night, I wish you were holding my hand as I watched ancient oaks, their roots ripped from the underworld played bare to the ravages of the wind... I'll write after the weekend, despite no electricity, still, Rosie is coming to help clear the debris. xx
Tears Susie, you allow the tears to fall, again. Thank you. Utterly breathtakingly beautiful.
Morning priorities most definitely are in order - fresh flowers and a fresh page. Creativity and beauty must take precedence, especially in times like these.
I love your hares. Having just written about "bunnies", not capturing them nearly as wonder -fully as you do hares, I resonate so much.
Thank you and may you continue to enjoy warm golden summer days. ❤️💛
I wrote an essay of a reply last night to your comment Jo, half rant about the purgatory of war, the non believers of climate change and the believers in a man/men who take pleasure in destruction, and the very real and destructive tornado that hit my poor battered hill on Wednesday evening and the legacy we are leaving our children and, and, and... Just as I was about to sit send the wifi crashed and I lost every word... perhaps this was for the best, you have enough to deal with in your life without me adding a long and tearful essay to it.... so I will just say this;
Dear beautiful Jo, thank you always for kind words and add also that, I think no matter the way we write, and every word you do is a song, all sentences containing poems about hares and rabbits or any other animal, leaf, mountain or cloud, are beautiful because they show we are paying attention, and that, above all else amidst this horror is important. So important! With love from my temporarily cool desk I send you a hug xx♥️
Oh Susie, so sorry to hear about the tornado! Hope you and your family and property are ok.... No doubt we will hear about it in your next writing.
Thank you so much for your thoughts here. How frustrating for you that you lost that reply - maybe it was the universe inviting you to vent and then whipping it away to start again - a fresh page, a fresh bunch of flowers... Turning our attention towards what gives us joy is a moment to moment practice I am really having to dig deep to remember to do right now. Sending ❤️❤️❤️
Inextinguishable indeed. You are luminous Susie and after reading this, I feel I might be glowing a bit brighter too.💛
Dearest Kimberly, I am not sure you ever stop glowing! I loved the beautiful film you made with Troy so very much, thank you for sharing it with us - I just made it to the end, albeit two minutes behind everyone else, before the wifi cut completely!
My humble thanks to both you and Troy ♥️
My goodness, this is writing that is enchanting.
My sincere thanks David, I am always happy to hear I have enchanted someone with my writing. 🙏🏼
Thank you Susie for wanting to tell, and for doing so. Beautifully.
I think to be aware in nature is our only calm at the moment Michela, I know you would agree! Thank you for being here - I hope you find a peaceful day awaiting you. xx
The greatest philosophy comes from struggle as people through the ages try to understand, just to understand the foolishness and blindness and all the other things to reveal something of us all.
The greatest poets come from struggle as they refuse to look away and feel the world so cleanly and slice through all the the foolishness and blindness and all the other things to reveal something of us all.
Thanks for being such a philosopher and poet there on the hill, Susie and through your writing revealing something of us all.
Jonathan, as always I am humbled by your words, the fact that you, one of my favourite philosophers, read mine... thank you.
I am far from certain of ever being any great poet or philosopher but I will continue to try and I refuse to look away, either from the horror and foolishness or the calm and the utter beauty that prevails despite it.
The past week has been a torture on the grandest of scales I am speechless!
The mutual humbling society :)
Your words are seeds of hope, dearest Susie. May the wind carry them on fertile soil.
I am standing by your light with a water can in hand, praying for the rain.
Thank you so much dear Fotini, and I am sending filled watering cans from my over-flowing well your way, with a prayer for rain hidden within. I haven't forgotten you, catching up very soon lovely one - life has taken over - one more week and I'll be breathing normally again...xx
That's what life does, don't forget to breathe :) 🖤
I've been eating apricots this week. And cherries. Fresh and perfectly ripe. And the best, sweetest, most perfect melon that I have tasted in years, purchased at a fruit stand half way across the state after a lunch of fresh asparagus tamales (who knew), at a perfect little hole in the wall joint in a tiny town in orchard and vineyard country, with Mary.
Each of these sensual masterpieces is made sweeter because it is so fleeting, because I know it is 'now,' not tomorrow, when perfection and I may meet, face to face ...and smile.
It is today.
I'm telling you.
And I'm rooting for you ...those days that approach, those moments...
Perfection; not wanted, not interrupted, not just beyond reach,
but tasted,
juice dripping,
laughter and sighing,
in your 'now.'
Hold fast. It's coming, but it is also here.
My dear David, I am so thankful for you! Apricots you say, and cherries too, a fine feast indeed, one I that will not adorn my table this summer but can taste vicariously - thank you for such sweet juicy reminders. At the start of a week - already feeling like the worlds hardest obstacle course - they are much needed and deeply appreciated.
It is to be hot here, not a balmy hot, the type where I wake refreshed, smiling as I fling open the shutters, grateful for another beautiful summers day, no, no! This morning I seriously consider the sense in moving at all, I consider joining the tiny Pipistrelle bats in the cool of our caves - French for cellars - or setting up camp by the swimming hole because they might just be the only sure way of reaching the end, I won't think of the two hours of rugby scheduled for this morning, neither the French evaluations after lunch...
Such temperatures as we have now are unusual in June, normally restricted to one fleeting day of breathlessness but this is week two... In the middle of the first a tornado tore up the hill like a herd of raging bulls, nostrils flaring and breathing fire, they trampled ancient oaks to their death, pylons too, tore off roofs and littered the fields and lanes with debris enough to fill a whole fleet of dustcarts! Perhaps you know this violence already, alas, we do not - a tornado in France is not normal, no Siree!
I'm holding tight my friend... five more days, just five!
A tornado, on a hill in France? Good grief! I grew up with them, in Oklahoma and then Tennessee, knew to run to the culvert, to open all the windows in the house to equalize the pressure, to hide in the bathtub. But tearing up your hill, halfway around the world. I fear that we have, collectively, really, really pissed off the gods. Strange things everywhere. And that heat, that I do understand. It feeds the reptile in me in ways I store up for getting through winter, but the weight and lethargy are debilitating. Swimming is absolutely the best oasis in such an oven of days. Ahhh, the Pipistrelles... with a dad known as Batman, you can bet I've held my share of Pips, and Big and little Browns, and Mexican Freetails, and... Time in the 'caves' sounds like a perfect place to realign your overtaxed senses. I'm rooting for your upcoming release from the chains of responsibility and adulting, and wish you an active dreamlife in the meantime. Five more days means five more nights to travel into your future, imagining wonders and kindnesses, and preparing yourself to be delighted with days ahead where no one owns you. May they be sweet.
Dear Susie, I want to tell you how I have read and re-read your words, how they envelop me with their beauty, their mournful sorrow, their glistening hope. How I am in awe of the way, despite how “the days bounce off the calendar like a string of broken beads”, you still steal my heart away with your stories of sun ghosts and liquid amber, of silken threads and hares that leap and dance, of barbel in olive ponds, painted ladies and bottling tilleul blossoms.
I want to tell you how precious is the gift of words you share, how ‘words’ does not begin to describe the magic you bring to my mornings, when I sit and read and you cast enchantment over my day, transporting me to sit beside you on an alder stump by the water and watch a dragon bury something in the bank.
I want to tell you that, despite us having known each other such a short time, that having never met in person, I feel that we are old old friends, and that you seem to know my heart better than I have known it myself.
I want to tell you how I long to abandon everything, children, dogs, husband, responsibilities, and travel immediately to join you on your hill, to wander her paths, to smell the blossom and lie down in the long grass and watch the clouds, and pretend that wars and wannabe kings do not exist…
I want to tell you that I will carry this gift from you through my day of emails and reports, urgencies, planning and deadlines and meetings, Andy day will be lighter for it…
Much love xxx
Oh Emily, my heart… what a message to receive. I read it slowly, then again, then once more—and each time it brought tears to my eyes. What a luminous gift you’ve given me in these words, this letter full of kinship and shimmering kindness on a day when I fear our dear MN is all out of kindnesses for human beings...
To know that my little patch of hill and all its flickering creatures and glimmers of sorrow and hope have found their way into your mornings—it means more than I can say. You know already I sometimes write with a lump in my throat, indeed with tears flowing, unsure if I’ve said anything right at all… and then along comes someone like you, who understands not just the words, but the silence behind them too.
That feeling of old friendship, of shared threads winding quietly between us—I feel it too. Isn’t it one of the strangest and most beautiful things, how words can gather people close across miles and years unmet?
Come lie in the long grass anytime, even if only in your imagination, though if you ever do abandon everything, I’ll be here with chilled tilleul and a spare sunhat and always a hug and a smile, though likely the tears will fall agin but this time with joy!
Thank you—truly—for this. I’ll carry your words with me too, like a talisman against the clatter of the world.
Much love back to you,
Susie xxx
It is most strange and most beautiful, and your reply is most gorgeous, and most appreciated too xx
much love Emily, thank you for always being here - I do hope you aren’t quite as melted as I am this last week? xxx
Four days !!!
It is very warm, although perhaps not so warm here are it’s gets on the hill, 30oC yesterday — and I had the day off work so was able to not rush about in it, thankfully. Although today is hotter, and I am working. I hope the next four days pass swiftly and stress free for you xx
i want to tell you, Susie
to keep pointing your lens and shining your glowing light ✨
Darren I am, and will for as long as I have light to shine.💛
Beautifully put Susie - nature is the balm we all need in these unsettling times when there is so much horror in the world.
Thank you Lin, I think it might possibly be the only balm except for peace and we might be waiting a long time for that sadly...
May your week be calm and kind regardless. 💚
Thank you for these bittersweet tellings, the truest sort, and for showing us how to hold on to our hearts through it all, dear Susie. xo
Thank you for reading Carmine, between writing this and now we were hit by a mini tornado, the devastation is heartbreaking - I had to hold my heart so firmly as I watched great oaks ripped from their ancient homes - every year these storms are worse and I fear we will never learn that unless we pay deeper attention dear MN will be more and more incapable of hiding her disappointment in us. 😔xx
“I want to tell you” that I wish I could be there and hold your hand while you tell me…
And I want to tell you Lor, I wish you were holding my hand when a mini tornado hit us Wednesday night, I wish you were holding my hand as I watched ancient oaks, their roots ripped from the underworld played bare to the ravages of the wind... I'll write after the weekend, despite no electricity, still, Rosie is coming to help clear the debris. xx
Oh no! Susie!
Thankfully you are all safe!
I hope all your animal friends are safe.
Your home, and out buildings
I am truly sorry about the mighty Oak.
I wish I was there to help.
Let Rosie be the calm after the storm.
We are all safe Lor, Rosie too, but the trees... my heart is broken for the five ancient oaks uprooted. Nothing is remotely normal anymore! x
Wow.
Thanks Anna. Everything is a bit 'wow' one way or the other right now!
((Sigh)) thank you.
A sigh is good Laura, sighs mean caring... Thank you so much. x
I loved the descriptions of the hares and the barbels, Susie! Calm and magical moments.
Jeffrey thank you so much, I delighted you enjoyed those paragraphs especially!
I will be catching up with your posts very soon, apologies - its that time of year!
Beautifully put, Susie
Its hard to write beautifully of such an unholy mess Lynn, I glad you think so though! xx
Tears Susie, you allow the tears to fall, again. Thank you. Utterly breathtakingly beautiful.
Morning priorities most definitely are in order - fresh flowers and a fresh page. Creativity and beauty must take precedence, especially in times like these.
I love your hares. Having just written about "bunnies", not capturing them nearly as wonder -fully as you do hares, I resonate so much.
Thank you and may you continue to enjoy warm golden summer days. ❤️💛
I wrote an essay of a reply last night to your comment Jo, half rant about the purgatory of war, the non believers of climate change and the believers in a man/men who take pleasure in destruction, and the very real and destructive tornado that hit my poor battered hill on Wednesday evening and the legacy we are leaving our children and, and, and... Just as I was about to sit send the wifi crashed and I lost every word... perhaps this was for the best, you have enough to deal with in your life without me adding a long and tearful essay to it.... so I will just say this;
Dear beautiful Jo, thank you always for kind words and add also that, I think no matter the way we write, and every word you do is a song, all sentences containing poems about hares and rabbits or any other animal, leaf, mountain or cloud, are beautiful because they show we are paying attention, and that, above all else amidst this horror is important. So important! With love from my temporarily cool desk I send you a hug xx♥️
Oh Susie, so sorry to hear about the tornado! Hope you and your family and property are ok.... No doubt we will hear about it in your next writing.
Thank you so much for your thoughts here. How frustrating for you that you lost that reply - maybe it was the universe inviting you to vent and then whipping it away to start again - a fresh page, a fresh bunch of flowers... Turning our attention towards what gives us joy is a moment to moment practice I am really having to dig deep to remember to do right now. Sending ❤️❤️❤️
I am digging deep with you Jo, holding hands while we do! Allez, courage ma belle! ♥️