The days are chilling rapidly and it is still dark at 7am. Spent much of the weekend out walking through vineyards and the lower mountain slopes of a local nature reserve — saw grysbok and came across old leopard traps that date back to the Dutch farmers of the 18th-century. There are very few leopards in these mountains now, but numerous baboons, antelope, blue cranes and many different raptors. It is much more pleasant walking in cooler weather and the mountain slopes are scented with mauve and cream heathers.
As I drank my coffee this morning I read an article in Treehugger describing how the world’s oldest beehives have been discovered in the ancient Scottish chapel at Rosslyn, dating back to 1446. For some reason this makes me deeply happy, to think of medieval monks reverencing the presence of bees, protecting them with a refuge of skilfully carved stone under the eaves:
The only clues to the hives’ existence were flowers intricately carved into the pinnacles — it is charming that there were holes through which the bees could enter and exit. These were visible from the outside.
Since the hive was so high above the ground, it is clear that no one would be able to reach it to get the honey. It is thought that the ancient stone masons who built the chapel simply wanted to provide a safe location for a wild honeybee hive, protected from bad weather.
Today it is cold, autumnal and the skies are milky with cloud. Light falls unimpeded through the bare branches of the catalpa, dombeya, oak, poplars and a lonely English hawthorn. Since dawn I have been making up a fiction piece in my head and there are scribbled pages scattered across the tongue-and groove pine kitchen table and the satiny yellowwood table in the study. The germ of an idea for this story came to me in a dream, myself unpacking a suitcase that rested on dusty floorboards in an old Edinburgh apartment, searching for a letter written to me as a child. As I write snatches of dialogue and draft out storylines, I am reminded of Adrienne Rich on writing a poem:
But most often someone writing a poem believes in, depends on, a delicate, vibrating range of difference, that an “I” can become a “we” without extinguishing others, that a partly common language exists to which strangers can bring their own heartbeat, memories, images. A language that itself has learned from the heartbeat, memories, images of strangers.
It is cloudy and overcast but I feel as though I am moving around in sunlight, a warmth that glows from within. Gratitude as palpable as honey stored in an ancient beehive, honey pouring out golden and rich, a stream of sweetness that flavours my life. The dream of a common language. How lucky I am to be sober, loved by those for whom I care, able to participate fully in life, to give and receive, to be present and attentive to all the wonder and beauty in life. It is there if we just open our eyes and look in the right direction.
I too am feeling very grateful this morning.
Fascinating about the ancient bee hives.
I am grateful for a lot of things today. There is a lot of wonder and beauty in life: Right there in front of me when I choose to see it.
Have you read ‘The Secret Life of Bees?’
I read it this weekend, much later than most people here in western Canada, and have been bubbling over about it to my friends, who look at me like, ‘Where have u been? It’s a movie now!’
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I love today’s quote on poetry. Actually I love so much of what you write here about writing. …About Anais Nin last week too… It’s like echos of things I can’t even express in my own mind – but when I read it, it shouts, ‘home!’. And the excitement I feel is almost uncontainable. It feels crazy to get so thrilled about simply ‘words’. But I do.
Thank you.
I think I must be your most devoted lurker. I read every day and marvel every day at the loveliness of the writing. My de-lurking is prompted by the ability to give something in return for all the pleasure I have taken from your blog over the years: I have just renewed my London Rreview of Books subscription and they tell me I can give an additional subscription free to anyone anywhere in the world. If you don’t already have a subscription I wondered if you would like to take them up on their offer? Do drop me an email – you can do it all online at their website without my involvement.
Thank you so much!
I’d love to read your fiction. I bet it’s wonderful.
For years, I taught magazine writing at the journalism department of our state college. I still guest lecture there, and I often think that I could use any one of your posts to illustrate the power of specific detail to make writing rich and satisfying.
I come to your blog and feel nourished. Thank you.