The cancer journey was always going to track the changing seasons; now it is really showing, always in the most beautiful and surprising way. Waking up each morning, after I've wriggled fingers and toes and stretched the limbs, it's time to draw the blinds and greet the day. This week, I gasped at a magical morning mist, ethereal beauty, trees silhouetted against the gently shimmering rising sun. I let the gentle beauty wash over me, soothing any fears of the harsh intentions the chemo may have in store. tI's the first week of another cycle: it starts gently and then if so minded, unleashes it's prickly intent.
The joy of my "morning glories" has not abated: each morning has brought a different delight, from that shimmering dawn mist to an orange brilliance, east and west. A wonderful red sky which I then saw reflected in the trees to the west, as they glowed deep orange, as if someone had taken a paintbrush to the scene.
And the biggest surprise of all, arriving silently, was a morning snowscape. Huge fluffy snowflakes, gently settling, transforming the garden into an almost monochrome artwork. I had to go out there, bundled up in my dressing gown, to stand under a willow canopy, watching the showflakes settle on the lacecap of branches above. And nearby, the lavender bush, not so long ago green and mauve, buzzing with the hum of sunshine bees, is now laden with snow, part of the monochrome landscape. Back inside, capturing the falling flakes, watching their gentle, unhurried descent brought a feeling of immense calm, watching nature delivering yet another joy.
Chemo goes on, the grind continues, but the transformations and delights within the garden lift my spirits above it all.
