The scent of sense

A good day for meetings.

Before my trip to Cottesbrooke for a jog, I spent some time with Son of Bob. Or rather, he spent time with me.

I stand under the fragrant jasmine and he perches in the lilac on which the jasmine grows. We are bathed in the sweet aroma.

Being inspected by a robin has a certain feel about it. I didn't appreciate the particularity of that feel until the jays' two youngsters showed up. Their arrival sent SoB off into the neighbouring gardens. First one and then the other inspected me with first one eye, then the other and back and forth. The first juvenile rated me as perhaps a threat, and flew off. The second decided my presence could be borne while she ate the food I leave for the little birds. Then she took another look at me and decided maybe I was scary. She called, sounding slightly nervous, and her brother called from the front of the garden, sounding somewhat reassuring, and she called again and again in delighted, nervous relief as she flew to join him. Truly, I could sense the emotions in their call and response. Truly. In the pitch and the tone and the pace of the vocalisations.

It's like that with the crows - a little... I can tell Divo's voice from Diva's. their calls are very different. I think I know the Driveways.

Anyway, the feel of their inspection was quite distinct. Large eyes and a different kind of intelligence. Maybe the robin feels a little domesticated, familiar. The jays were alien and rather uncanny. But so beautiful.

This reminds me of something I felt while sitting by the oak with the face of the goddess. The message went like this: "I want you to know about the uncanny. Things can seem unkind or unfriendly - but that is not the condition of the messenger but part of the message. The purpose of this is to stop you romanticising and sentimentalising the natural world. You need to learn how to tell uncomfortable stories."

She offered another message. I'd said, "You are not here to be my mirror." And she said, "No. Maybe you are here to be mine."

Anyway, out in the fields I saw both a kestrel and a hare. Which felt good. The last time I saw a hare - which I have not related - there were actually three of them. Large and fast. I actually fell to my knees in my gratitude. A few days before I had fallen to my knees in front of an old, old tree at Burnham Beeches. I felt the need for as much humility as compassion.

While I watched the hare, the thought struck me: this world cannot contain all the beauty it generates. All the excess flies out into the glorious vivacity of spirited living.

Then, later this same day I heard anxious crows. I looked up and there was a buzzard overhead. In the park! they are seldom in the park. Kites fly over often. Anyway, a crow followed him and the buzzard flew into a tree. the crow followed and made these strange noises... anxious and unhappy. I was trying to see but both were deep in the canopy, high up. Finally the buzzard left and the crow followed, not threatening now, but sad. I fear the raptor was going for the nest - though I'd have thought the fledglings would be too big by now. Maybe he was just resting and the crow wasn't brave enough to harangue him in the branches.

While I watched, a thought struck me: this world cannot contain all the pain it generates. All the excess flies out in the terrifying vivacity of wild being.