Blessing

blessing3

I talked to my friend Jill in England yesterday. I was still poised at the outer edge of a sun-washed California morning, but it was the evening of a damp, gray day in England...Right before we hang up, Jill always asks me to go to the window and tell her how it looks out there. She is especially fond of the ocean, so I look towards the coast to the little v of sea that is visible between the hills, and I try to describe it:

“The ocean looks dark, sort of midnight blue, sort of…um…metallic...striped with bands of silver. The sky looks white, and I can see the island on the horizon today, etched very clearly against the sky. And the sun is shining, but in a hazy, gentle way. It’s a beautiful day. We would go for a walk.”

And she sighs wistfully and we say good-bye, wishing there weren’t so many miles between us.

Her sigh is reciprocated, too, for I can easily picture us having tea at the Vaults & Gardens of St. Mary when the church bells begin to ring, or walking on a windswept hill in the Vale of the White Horse on a brisk day with big white clouds rolling through the sky, or sitting in a backyard on a summer afternoon sipping Pimm’s with lemonade, fruit, and a sprig of mint, feeling slightly sophisticated.  I can readily conjure up memories of daffodils in churchyards, of musty museums and charity shops, of the stone buildings of Oxford blushing honey in the setting sun.

England has become a real place in my personal geography, a place that is home to people I love, a place where I am welcome. It was never more apparent than the last time I was there, right after my travels in Turkey -- and I hasten to add that I saw amazing things during my Turkish sojourn, even if my heart was elsewhere at the time. Our tour had an archaeological emphasis, and we traveled through time, visiting the Altar of Zeus on the Aegean coast, the citadel of Assos, the ancient Greek ruins at Pergamon, the marbled streets of Ephesus, the Temple of Apollo, the stone remains of remarkable civilizations. But I was sad and distracted, and happy to return to England’s hearth, where a daughter…and friends…awaited.

And there’s a particular moment I want to share, when all of this came together. I had gone with Jill to an arboretum to walk among the autumn trees. We strolled and we talked a lot, as girlfriends will, then sat together on a bench.  Lo and behold, a peacock appeared. Yes, a peacock, and he nonchalantly wandered towards us.Jill and I fell silent, watching. The peacock drew closer, watching back. He was exquisite and inexplicable, stunningly iridescent. We looked at him and he at us for a long time. It was more than a sighting; it was a visitation, a blessing.  Of this we had no doubt.

Hence the juxtaposition of images above: it is the short summary of my odyssey, and symbolic of how love revives the spirit. The feathers to the left are from a carving at ancient stone ruins someplace in Turkey, and the feathers in living color are from the peacock in England whose picture I stealthily snapped as he graced us with his presence.