9.00 am drive from Westhill to Montrose - at Stonehaven the wooded hill beside the road is a dirty strawy winter colour, till you see the sunlit snowdrops, suspended floral pearls framed in foliage so green it seems intended as a defiant statement of life, and Spring and the precious gift of secret but never superfluous beauty.
5pm driving over Netherley, the low sun glimmering on ten plough blades, the turned soil sun deepened brown, followed by a blizzard of seagulls, and ahead is Bennachie sketched across the skyline as if by an artist unsure whether it's meant to be a hill or a mountain.
On the drive down it was my favourite Emmylou Harris album; on the way back it was Renaissance Relaxation, playing Allegri's Miserere as I passed the tractor and plough. And thought for the first time, a ploughed field is an act of generous mercy, a chance to start again, wounds out of which new things can grow, reawakened possibilities as the seeds of who we can be are nourished in fresh soil.
Thanks for this
I was reminded of the words of Eberhard Arnold quoted in Rowland Croucher's collection of meditations "High Mountains, Deep Valleys" p119
"Pain is the plough that tears up our heart to make us open to truth"
Posted by: Bob Sneddon | February 26, 2017 at 02:45 PM