There are moments during a service when I pause and find myself looking out of the windows towards the sky. After a few seconds of watching nature play out across the canopy beyond where we are, I am grounded and able to return to the present.
I find myself looking out of our windows at home as I write and create ceremonies, get ready to take services or go out and meet loved ones who are struggling with loss. The mirror on our cabinet is beneath our bedroom window, and while I curl my hair and apply make-up, I can see the clouds scudding across the sky and watch the birds. Rooks reel around their nests high up in the trees along the old railway cutting, and I always know when rain is coming, as the seagulls appear.
There is a loving reminder in clouds that nothing holds its form or stays that way forever. Everything is ever-changing and in flux, just as we are. I feel whispered messages on the breeze and signs in the cloud shapes, and the feathered ones are among my favourites.
Many scenarios are playing out under the clouds, and all is flowing.
My heart holds the memories from a spontaneous day out with a friend one Saturday. Both newly split, our daughters were with their dads for the day and we had phoned each other. We went out with no plan and discovered much that day. An old, golden stoned, stately home that held training courses and spiritual retreats, was also a wedding venue, and it shone in the sunlight atop a hill. We vaguely remembered hearing of a cafe on the grounds, so we drove through the entrance gates.
The main house was deserted and there was evidence of renovation works and scaffolding around the back. The house was closed. We found the cafe in an old walled garden, it was open and rather lovely. An old WWII long hut painted sky blue, decorated inside with colourful patchwork bunting triangles, checked tablecloths and squishy sofas at the end, by the windows looking over the gardens. Books, puzzles and children's games were dotted about, and the ladies were busy baking, which added to the cosy feel over coffee and our happy nattering.
We wandered out of the cafe and set out to explore, discovering a Regency canopied terrace across the front of the main house with long wooden benches between the French doors. The view was spectacular and we stood looking out to the Bedfordshire plains. No one challenged us, so we sat down, and both fell silent.
After a while, one of us spotted a shape in the clouds, leading us to spend a contented couple of hours discovering cloud shapes and sharing past stories. Much hurt lifted and floated away that afternoon, carried on the breeze, and left to rest in the clouds moving across the horizon.
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