The flowering of hope.


The flowering cherry tree in the front garden is spectacular this year.

Which is a help, while we wait for the hospital appointment for a scan I can do with all the help from nature that I can get.  You might consider, seeing that I put a name to the problem six years ago that a few more weeks waiting to get my understanding confirmed would be neither here nor there.  Six years is a long time to wait and learn until an opportune moment presents itself, when you know that all the time the condition is deteriorating and you cannot do anything about it.  At the end of all that time a few more weeks should make no difference, you would think.

It’s like long distance running.  Marathon runners report that you hit a wall.  I do feel that I have been running through a brick wall for six years.  Then, they say, you sight the finish line and are suddenly aware of the superhuman effort that the last few yards will take from you and even then you might not win.

The tree in the garden is so beautiful.


Under it the very average grass, the beech hedge still dormant, the tulips and beyond the grey and rainy road.

But the tree


My heart feels so depleted the only metaphor I can offer is the visual one.

Except that in the tree, in the hollow middle of the tree where the heart of the tree is hollowed out and quite dead looking


a bluetit has built her nest and is sitting on a clutch of eggs.

I am grateful to nature for the metaphor.  I hope the eggs hatch.  I hope the tiny bluetits grow.  I hope none of them get eaten by the cats.  I hope they fledge.  I hope they learn to fly.  I hope they take flight into a new and hopeful life.

I do.


5 months and a bit to the next Miniatura.

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