Adlestrop

Thursday 1.45pm

Some days are still, quiet, slow. Just waiting. Like today. There is a feeling of spring in the air, but it is still winter. The only sounds are distant birds and faint rustlings in the trees. There are things to do but nothing feels urgent, even cooking on a day like this would be a slow simmering, bubbling away peacefully in the background. A patient, forgiving dish like a stew that will keep no matter how late you are. On days like this it feels good to be alone or with someone you really love so the silence does not intrude awkwardly. Sitting here I have no boundaries, my skin feels dissolved so that I am just part of everything around me, to the distant trees and beyond. If I was a wild animal I would be enjoying the sun, thankfull that I had got through the worst of the winter alive. It is the same feeling I often get when travelling. On trains and planes everything is decided and out of my hands, all I need to do is sit. Things may happen, circumstances will change, but my worrying will have no effect, best just sit and enjoy now. I think Edward Thomas felt this way as well when his train stopped unexpectedly at a small rural station. His poem Adlestrop evokes the feeling beautifully.

Adlestrop

Yes, I remember Adlestrop -
The name, because one afternoon
Of heat the express-train drew up there
Unwontedly. It was late June.

The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat.
No one left and no one came
On the bare platform. What I saw
Was Adlestrop - only the name.

And willows, willow-herb, and grass,
And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry,
No whit less still and lonely fair
Than the high cloudlets in the sky.

And for that minute a blackbird sang
Close by, and round him, mistier,
Farther and farther, all the birds
Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.

Edward Thomas (1878 - 1917)



Picture is by Nicola of the view when the bus broke down on the way back from a quilting trip to Auckland.