What would it be like to make stillness the focus of my day?

 Unstoppable exuberant spring breaking out on the Killerton Estate last week.

On Sunday I'm invited to my great nephew's late Christmas present treat - the Stock Car and Old Banger Racing at Smeatharpe in the Blackdown Hills.

The 4 minute laps are fast and noisy and exciting in parts...  the rules of winning a complete mystery.... and there are not enough bangs and crashes and collisions for me...

nor for my great nephew and his little friend who have endless creative fun instead, playing games with our picnic chairs. And like me

thoroughly enjoying my sister's picnic - especially her white chocolate dipped raspberries and dark chocolate covered grapes after her homemade cheese straws and veggie sausage rolls.

I also really enjoy the catchy dance tunes of the fairground music played over the loud speakers between races...they remind me of the music I associate with the once a year Lusaka Show ( the police motorbike displays in front of the Governor in his red jacket and white feathered busby....candy floss and toffee apples ) and the Luna Park  Fair of my childhood.

Later, before the end of the race meeting as the boys are getting bored,

we return to the farm for tea and football in the garden.

Today

After a long conversation over the washing up with my wise and thoughtful nephew yesterday, I start wondering what it would be like to make stillness, being still and seeing/feeling what arises out of it, the focus of my day. The purpose of it. Instead of my habit of doing a hurried 20 minutes of yoga and "meditation" in the morning which I need to get through or even skip all together, so that I can 'get on' with the rest of the busyness of my day.

So today I only make a loose plan...follow my intuition ....turn inside and listen a bit more. Not try and make things happen...not worry about the house....follow a vague feeling of no urgency...sort of let things settle, as my nephew suggests ...like mud filtering through light in the pond.

I make a green smoothie.... do some gentle (because my stomach hurts) yoga...read an inspiring article online about creativity.....order books on Amazon...two by the poet Mary Oliver and one about the rituals of grieving in other cultures...walk in the park with my camera...eat left over picnic hummus and crudités ....make carrot and leek and wild garlic soup...and stop and rest on the sofa when I'm tired.

And all the time I'm obliquely waiting ...trusting to be called to the next thing....be ready to notice the tiny green shoots of joy which may be there....while I'm still following the boulder strewn path of grieving for Robin ...into whatever tumultuous water or calm lake it takes me.