As the snow flakes began to whirl along the valley my head cleared. It came into focus for me that the snow flakes outside were mirroring the same white out in my head. From time to time, although generally less tired, my brain still fogs over and I stop being able to read what’s in front of me or concentrate on anything. Then I sleep.
I’ve realised long before this that there are very many shades of tired. I’ve not got them plotted out but this sort of tired is different from some others sorts I’ve known.
Yesterday I got soaked. It really rained hard. I took the opportunity to try out some of my outdoor gear both old and new in advance of the walk that I plan to start at the end of the month. The rain rolled off my new jacket in droplets and pooled in the turn ups of my older too long waterproof trousers. Useful if you want to take your goldfish for a walk (as in the song ‘How much is that doggy in the window? ‘). You can make a handy temporary water filled refuge in your turn ups.
But it was the downpour that interested me. Two weeks ago in North Wales we were basking in extraordinary high temperatures for the time of year. Coed-y-Bleiddiau, the place we stayed, nestled in a section of temperate rain forest but when we arrived it was very very dry. Dead leaves caught up in last years brambles and bracken, dead wood cracking under foot, dust dry paths: it was not how a rain forest might be imagined. It was worrying.
Towards the end of the week, the high temperatures chased away, rain washed in. After a couple of days the rain, the forest did begin to breathe more deeply. Clouds hugged the hills and raindrops dripped from bare branches. Little rivulets began to run downhill gathering up the dead leaves and wood and dust. The paths began to get damp, and even sticky with mud. The water was gently soaking in.
The woodland needs the rain. It needs a lot of it to return it to its temperate rain forest status. So too, I need a good soaking.
In our life and our believing
The love of God