Ruby
In the brief, blue-skied and sunny days we had last week, I took myself back to our local woodland. It’s literally just across the lane and through a tiny paddock, a hop over a stream and there you are. Small - probably only five acres or so, and this time of year is one of the only periods when you can walk around freely. There are snowdrops beneath the old, old oaks; almost bluebells and wood anemone, but the brambles and nettles are still only ankle high. If you’re lucky, you’ll walk beneath circling buzzards, and alongside a roe deer. This week there were butterflies too.
There’s been a lot of questions in this eternally hyperactive mind of mine and sometimes the best thing I can do is ask for guidance. This wood has a real personality, and I kept getting the feeling I should go and seek its advice.
I’ve had times when I’ve gone walking in there and felt strongly that I wasn’t welcome. At all. All I could do was turn on my heel and leave without arguing. But at the moment, the atmosphere is airy, clear and if there were doors, they’d be open. The kettle would be on. It feels like there are fairies.
There’s a fallen tree - one of many - to sit on that catches the sun mid-morning. It’s near the far edge, and gives an open view across almost the whole wood while the trees are still leafless. So I sit, close my eyes, tune in, and ask. At first, nothing happens - my connection points maybe got a little damp over winter - but I persevere. Respectfully, I wait. And wait.
As I open my eyes I “see” her. A hare, facing half away from me, her head turned to make eye contact. I can see something sparkling on her forehead; some kind of gemstone...ruby?
This kind of seeing is difficult to explain. My eyes are open and observing the place in front of me - a sunlit patch in spring woodland - but I’m also looking with some other part of me, that sees the hare. Invisible but visible. Not there, but totally there. She’s wise and beautiful and older than old. Ancient in fact, though vital, and part of this piece of land. She’ll simply merge back into it when she’s had enough of me.
I’ve been back and waited for her three times now, and each time she’s shown up and yes, answered my question.
Yesterday morning when I went into the garden with my cat, a group of jackdaws (no doubt of the many who roost in these same woods at night) flew overhead, circled, and I swear made the outline of a hare’s head - the long ears! - for a moment in the sky, before heading off into their day.
There’s a part of me that instantly scoffs at that image but I’m serving it eviction papers. It is no longer welcome. It’s neither truthful or useful, it’s just old programming from people who have never had a conversation with a bejewelled hare.
I have.