I know we and indeed everything is without seperaten, but just now . . .

I took.a large glass of red wine down my garden, sat down, stilled myself and drummed for half an hour. Evening song of birds was there, the constant bark of a frustrated dog was there. The twenty to thirty trees and shrubs I planted were there, with me. Just for now, for a week, no more, will I have their company.

I got up after thirty minutes, took.my socks and shoes off. It had been raining five days, the earth, receptive, cool. Each tree, each shrub, a particular memory, a special gift and / or challenge. They all got four drum beats, one each for the seasons to come, a full cycle of protection, of strength of continuity, vigour and resilience. All of them, back and front, ending with the Kentish Cob nut to on the street side of the front drive; such lovely big nuts from so unpromising a location. The big Oak got some more time, I listened and craned my neck skyward – it is nesting season. Finally returned to brace myself in that central tree, of thick woody thorns, graceful trunk, ragged top, the damson. It began to rain, two distinct sources of rains. As they are strong now, so will I be. New stewardship becones.

Whatever busyness befalls me these next seven days I have the solace in knowing proper and due respects and farewells have been offered, as they offered their many and varied gifts to me.

This is the way I follow.