Temporary Equilibrium in a Chaotic World
The spring equinox in the northern hemisphere
For extra tranquility, why not listen to this letter? I record outdoors, so you never know what extras you might get!
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Thursday.
We briefly dreamed of Summer, before Spring borrowed Winter’s teeth.
Safe within the trees I hear the snap of twig. I turn quickly, expecting to hide from human. Burst of white and then from the lane the roe deer watches me. I recognise the irony in our inverted placement.
On the edge of the moss a sudden movement at speed. I think at first it’s a very small roe kid before recognising the athlete as a hare, water spurting all ways as it runs.
The edge of the peat bank feels like the shore, the wet heath spread out in front of me the sea.
Saturday.
Sunlight slips, slides, sideways through the trees, fingering frost.
Roe buck drinking from the lane side ditch ahead of me. Slow; for a while he doesn’t hear me, then his head lifts. It’s easy to think that there’s no wildness left in these isles but look into the eyes of a deer and there are still glimpses to be had. It’s there in the birdsong, the shadows between trees, the silvered grass.
Later as I walk along the edge of the pine I find myself exchanging looks with a doe. She’s reluctant to leave her breakfast of heather tips, and I try to steal a little of her wild soul in my photographs.
Equi-lux. When day and night are equal. This year the equilux fell on 17 March.
Morning light reveals hills dusted with snow. Moisture rises, drifts in veils along the ridge, a strand-line between sky and land. The effect is beguiling and I reach for a sketchbook. A what if… ink mingles with graphite, deltas develop, fractal patterns between above and below akin to those that decorate sand caressed by wave. A new plain of exploration, the curtain between.
Along the old moss-filled ditches, the grass is greening and the water is home to gelatinous archipelagos of frog spawn.
Tuesday.
As Dawn rises, frost lies: -7oC. Not quite Spring then.
In a favourite spot I know to find ice on grasses and ling; shade allows a little time, but otherwise solid is soon returned to liquid.
Foolishly I had begun to congratulate myself as sketches outnumbered photographs. I could almost hear my hard drive relaxing. All it took was the return of high pressure, clear skies, cold nights and frost blooms for my eyes to drop down from the sky to the ground. The twinge in my right buttock the next morning attests to it.
Wednesday.
A juxtaposition. Soaring sweet song of skylark lifts the heart. Fine twigs along the top of a beech hedge reach up to blue. Close your eyes and it could be anywhere other than a retail parking lot.
In the days between equilux and equinox, Spring's love is fierce. Green buds open under cloudless skies. The night’s chill bides in the morning's frost, bright blinding sun falls on ice-fattened tissue.
In the evening as I write the sun sets behind the hills. I notice for the first time the remarkable journey it has already made along the ridgeline from Winter northwards towards Summer.
Time slips a little as I look through the previous day’s photographs. I can lose myself in the smallest of things: ice crystals on grass, the melting droplets that linger on bent stems. The magic of light, the glittering treasure—the surprises to be found amid the apparently ordinary, the eloquent imperfection.
Equi-nox — Thursday 20 March 2025.
When all things are equal comes into mind. If only: I may be guilty of wishful thinking. How this earth stays on its axis is a mystery, but the sun still rises1 and the seasons unfold. Even today, not all is equal, light refraction when the sun is no longer visible will lengthen the daylight hours a little.
The birds seem happy and are full of an energy that I envy. I have a new feeder amid the lilac branches outside the window I work by, affording the luxury of a closer view of my visitors. The first to arrive were the tits, but it is now monopolised by finches… gold- and green-, chaf-, on occasion siskins or a brambling. Here there is no new feeder shyness; even last week with fitters in and out every few minutes, they were straight back for the easy pleasure of oily sunflower seeds.
I confess I'm running a little late this week; I'm not quite as polished as normal. I had in mind at one point to play with a list of words. I had a beginning, but didn’t quite get there.
Equilibrium Equity Equidistant Equivalent
Such weight we place on the idea of balance, a hope to wrap around ourselves.
Thank you once again for your kind comments in response to last week's post. It's always good to hear from you, and to know that my letters bring you a little tranquility. And to those of you who've been kind enough to buy me that cup of tea, I'm especially grateful.
Until next week,
These letters are my light in the darkness, the candle I burn in the window for you. Moth to flame, the things that draw my eye and my heart. Subscribe here to receive them.
PostScript
To spot a roe deer look for the misplaced patch of snow, the flicker of movement, or sometimes, as this morning, just two felted large ears sticking up above the heather from the late risers.
Yesterday, I especially enjoyed a post from poet
. It's one that my sleep fogged morning brain still needs to return to from the gut-churning baldness of ‘99 percent of the old-growth Douglas firs have been logged’ to the sheer wonder of ‘18,000 invertebrates can be found under a single pair of boot prints’. Beauty and sadness mingle. You might like to read it and now, as I end, I'm wondering how many invertebrates might be under my pair of boots.
All words and images are copyright © Michela Griffith except where otherwise noted
The human ego-centric arrogance of this, the idea that the sun moves around our rock.
"We briefly dreamed of Summer, before Spring borrowed Winter’s teeth." - what a wonderful sentence..
This sentence Michela 💚 ‘The night’s chill bides in the morning's frost, bright blinding sun falls on ice-fattened tissue.’