Don't go, then

I've been on bird feeding duty again, which is something I rather like. And I liked it that I heard and saw wrens, after my recent discoveries about them.

I have been wondering if I could write something on the theme of the wren and sacrifice, the little death of the winter before the great birth of the spring. And of the wren singing throughout its dying, but still accepting the fate of the turning year... and how we, humans, maybe need to learn some of this humility....

It seemed a viable possibility at the time but now I am not so sure. Not so sure about anything.

Still, it's always good to see a young oak in later afternoon sunshine.

I was meant to be attending a birthday party this weekend, but as I sat with the Wayfarer or Wayfinder... I seem to alternate between the terms and perhaps that is apt as I am as often expressing my nomad credentials as I am my route maps when I speak to the tree. More often perhaps.

Anyway, he said, just don't go. There's only so much a person can do.

And I feel capable of less and less!

I walked back to my car, the light more angled with the declining sun... and the two sycamore stems shone together in their defiant duality, a duality that is also a unity. We are two and we are one and we can just as well be many.

Just don't count, they said. Just leave the numbers out of the equation.