For the last few weeks the days have been passing, dull, grey and getting shorter – but with sunny moments.
Last week was my birthday. Sometimes I approach my birthday with trepidation and even dismissively. I’m not sure why. Perhaps because I am afraid to acknowledge the passing of time, and the ageing process? Or perhaps there is a fear that the supposedly “special” day just serves to accentuate its ordinariness. This year the sun broke through clouds and colours were glorious. Many people sent birthday wishes, electronically or by older fashioned methods, which was lovely.
One of my dear friends sent a card with these words
“We do not remember days, we remember moments”
At the back of my mind I can hear my Father quoting Eeyore, “After all, what are birthdays? Here today and gone tomorrow.” (We weren’t a naturally celebratory family!) And Eeyore is right in that birthdays are days just like any other, which pass and are gone. But, as Pavese says, moments are different. The moments when we are present to the joy of the moment, that is the stuff of memories.
Some moments I will remember from recent days include the honest kind sharing in two writing groups I lead, and the fun and exhilaration of singing with the “Just Sing” choir. Other continuing moments of making, creating, catching the light…
My stars stitched with “difficult threads” are forming into a quilt. Work in progress.
And I am having fun creating pages for a textile book, inspired by the spindleberry tree in our garden with its magical rosy autumn berries and glowing leaves.