I am an urban druid
I practise every day,
Except for when it’s raining –
Then I stay inside to pray…
[A little ditty (third and fourth lines vary) that I wander around the house singing, to the tune of “I am a fine musician”. Until SJ wants to kill me. Then my friend comes up with more lines and I start again.]
Last week we had a beautiful warm spell that marked the end of summer. Trees loaded with berries and conkers and fruit, turning deep red and golden. Acorns and oak leaves littering the parks and pathways. Generous rowans and apple trees showering bright fruit into the road. Low light, long shadows, endless afternoons.
I found myself in the liminal places, crossing the hedge on the edge of building sites, finding fallen berries at the side of roads, tracing the course of the River Brent as it winds through industrial estates and nice London pseudo-villages alike.
In a meadow that I’d never have found if I hadn’t wandered through a building site behind the river, a very chatty rowan tree seemed as delighted to meet me as I was to be able to meditate there, in that quiet, oddly undisturbed bit of urban wildness.
I’ve read a few posts on urban Paganism for this week’s PBP. Most people are saying that, since most of us have to live in cities, we might as well as get on with it, as much as we’d rather be in the countryside.
But not me. This is where I work. This is where I’m home. The places where we remember that we are not separate from nature and the wild. We don’t really retreat from it, when we build towers and fortresses and walls. Life is everywhere. The stubborn, determined endurance of life, everywhere, gives me hope.