I landed in London with the first snowfall of the decade. As I rode in from Heathrow in the back of a black cab, I shivered. My thin cotton T-shirt & jeans—more appropriate for the tropical thirty degrees centigrade temperature that I was used to—not shielding me from the incoming cold which instantly pervaded my bones, moving right in and staying there for the next three years, until I mastered the art of layering up without looking like a snowman or snow-woman as the case maybe. Having finally solved the problem of how to stay warm and yet look stylish, I finally got around to exploring the nooks and corners of my adopted city when a wrong turn lead me to stumble upon a space of timeless greenery that kissed its neighbouring homes before sweeping away proud yet serene up the edges of the cricket greens and then beyond. The greenery interspersed the ancient tress in a rock ‘n rolling kind of way. Roses draped over ancient stones while ivy crept up the sides of ageless hedges. Flowers bloomed in every nook & cranny in the spring while in autumn the red & brown leaves draped the mud below christening them with the vermilion of their youth. Sitting on a bench dedicated by a husband to his wife who had loved the woods, I floated down to Earth with the next petal and wondered if soon I too would be just an inscription on the ether of humanity? Like my unborn child would I too vanish down the corridors of history, never forgotten for I was never remembered. My favourite corner of London, Highgate Wood does this to me. It gives me the silence to listen, the intuition to follow my own beat and the courage to face up to my own path. Now all I need is the means to materialise my vision. I am sure it will, all I have to do is listen to the wisdom of the three hundred year old trees which surround me, reach out to me, embrace me and soothe my worries.
Be sure to check out Book passion for life today for a guest post and giveaway from Sarah Crossan, author of Breathe.