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What comes into view...
Living in the countryside has many advantages. This week has reminded me just how much wildlife we have quite literally on our doorstep - although it has also brought one of the less comfortable sides of country life into sharp focus.
It all started in the garden.
A lesser weasel appeared from underneath the gate and spent some time having a good run around. A neighbour told my husband that a grass snake had been spotted disappearing underneath his van on our drive, a squirrel seems to have decided that the garden is a good place to spend its time, and several cats have been patrolling at night.
It appears that they knew something that we didn't.
When my husband opened our supposedly mouse-proof compost bin, a whole nest of field mice looked up at him. Somehow, they'd also managed to drag bits of plastic and litter in with them to make a comfortable little nest.
They’re resourceful little creatures. Although it’s not quite the ringing endorsement of the compost bin that we'd hoped for.
Down at the pond, the swans have mostly left as the water level has fallen so low. They still return occasionally, seemingly to check whether we've brought them anything to eat.
Inevitably, when we remember to take food, they're nowhere to be seen. When we don't, one of them comes purposefully out of the water to greet us ands we feel guilty for not bringing any.
There's been plenty to notice this last week, but not all of it has been lovely.
When something doesn't feel right
On one of our walks last week, we came across a number of dead birds in and around a field.
We couldn't tell what had happened, but something about it didn't feel right. They're birds we might see every day and barely give a second glance to, but seeing so many lying there was upsetting, and a reminder that paying attention doesn't always mean noticing something beautiful.
There are times when what we notice leaves us with questions rather than answers, and this was one of them.
And yet, on the same walk, there was a magnificent barn owl sitting quietly in a tree. As we approached, it took flight directly in front of us. It was one of those encounters that lasts for only seconds, but stays with you for much longer.
The contrast was difficult to miss.
The things that appear
There have been plenty of other moments this week that I could easily have walked straight past.
I watched an enormous hornet methodically stripping bark from an old tree stump.
Hundreds of noisy geese passed overhead in great V-formations on the day that I'd been working on my children's story about Tilly the greylag goose. I'm choosing to take that as encouragement.
The snipes are back, and I even managed to photograph one from a distance, its extraordinary long, straw-like beak clearly visible as it flew over the river.
The kestrels seem incredibly vocal at the moment. The great white egret has returned again, as the little egrets have been sharing what's left of the pond with the swans, and the herons appear to follow the sheep around on the river’s edge as though they're waiting for them to reveal something interesting.
The evenings have been beautiful too. As the sun has dropped lower, the fields have taken on that wonderful golden-hour light, turning even the most familiar views into something worth stopping for.
One evening a tractor stood still in the field, caught in the last of the sunlight, whilst our own shadows stretched, impossibly elongated across the ground.
Nothing about the landscape had really changed, but the light had, and somehow, that changed what we saw.
Then there was the kingfisher….
One evening, the river was unusually calm and low, almost like a mill pond. We stood watching the ripples made by fish beneath the surface, hoping we'd catch sight of one, or maybe even an eel.
Instead, I heard the unmistakable shrill peep of a kingfisher.
Seconds later, a streak of brilliant blue and orange sped past about a foot above the water. I lifted my camera and tried to follow it, but all I captured was a blur - a blue and orange smudge almost lost against the riverbank, and one of the worst photographs that I have ever taken. But I did see it!
Only fleetingly, but I saw it. Can you?
What are we looking for?
Something else happened this week that made me think about that.
I'd commented that we hadn't seen a buzzard or barn owl close up for quite a while and wondered whether the owls had moved elsewhere.
Within a day, both had flown from trees directly in front of us - a sight to behold.
This happens often. I'll say, "We haven't seen a..." and shortly afterwards one appears.
I've not yet managed to make that same principle work with winning lottery tickets!
And of course, saying something out loud doesn't magically make a kingfisher, buzzard or barn owl appear, but perhaps it does change what we're paying attention to.
Once something enters our awareness, we start looking differently. We notice movement in a tree that we'd normally just walk past. A sound becomes distinguishable from all the others, or something that might have been part of the background suddenly comes into focus.
How often does that also happen elsewhere in life?
What might we notice when we stop searching for what we expected to find?
Our week ended with a downpour and a beautiful double rainbow stretching across the sky.
Not everything has to be resolved
There are plenty of unresolved things in my life at the moment.
I've been worried about someone I love and have been encouraging them to seek some help.
I'm waiting to hear about a collaborative bid that three of us put an enormous amount of work into. We submitted the best piece of work we could, and now the outcome is outside our control.
My plans for some local health and nature walks are beginning to take shape. More on those soon.
Tilly the greylag goose has begun her journey onto the page, although she needs considerably more imagination before she's ready to face her toughest critics - four young friends who I'm fairly certain won't hold back.
I've also been plotting a suitably challenging forest treasure hunt for two very lively and intelligent six-year-olds, who are already asking questions about it before we've even arrived.
I'd like to be doing much more coaching than I currently am.
It would be very easy to look at all of that and focus on what's missing, unfinished or uncertain, but when I think back over this week, that's not really what I see.
Instead, I see things beginning.
Ideas that are taking shape. Conversations that are making a difference. Possibilities that are emerging. Relationships that are being looked after. Things that can't yet be resolved, are being allowed to remain unresolved for a little while.
Whilst an extraordinary amount of life is carrying on around it all.
I think that's what this week has reminded me - that paying attention doesn't mean that we'll notice only the beautiful things. Sometimes we notice something uncomfortable, or something that needs action. At other times, we just don't know what something means, or how it will turn out.
And now and then, all we get is a flash of blue and orange before it's gone!
What might you notice?
Autumn is a natural time of change. It's also a good time to notice what's taking up your attention.
What are you looking for?
What have you been circling around without quite knowing what to do with it?
What might be asking for your attention?
What is quietly taking shape that you haven't quite seen yet?
We don't always need an immediate answer.
We just need enough space to see what's actually there.
If you'd like some space to get your thoughts into shape this autumn, you're really welcome to get in touch.
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