Just in the door, my Skype rang. It was Fifi from Ibiza. “Everyone’s gone home” she said, “The whole family. The temperature’s dropped and the campsite’s finally calming down.”
I relayed how I’d just been sitting on a bench in the park with a hot cup of tea for company as the smoky smell of autumn drifted towards me, leaves on the ground around my stillness; serving as a carpet to crunch through on the way home.
“I crave nature these days” I said.
“You’re not the only one. Practically every guest I’ve had a conversation with this season has told me of their yearning for countryside, greenness and simplicity in life” Fifi replied.
Later that evening I bounded up the steps of my choir’s rehearsal venue, literally grinning with glee in anticipation.
Walking into our room, the usual 50 or so suspects were there: “Welcome to the new, the old and the new old members our conductor smiled.” People glanced around shyly to see who was where, before standing to start the warm up. At tea break, summer holiday stories were exchanged, fees were paid and lyric sheets handed out: Warm smiles and greetings to one other revealing a benign treasured connection that singing together has facilitated over the years.
I went to sleep with gratitude in my heart and the sense of hope that a new season can bring.
At yoga the following day I lay down on the mat and gazed at the garden to my right. Sunshine caressed my forehead; a slight breeze cooled me at the same time.“We’re going to do a heart opening practice today” Catherine, our instructor told us in soothing tones. “It can bring up emotions, so if you’re new to yoga just go with it.”
Flowing through various vinyasas led eventually to us sitting in a more meditative pose. She told us to keep our hearts open and accept the dark and the light thoughts. Tears pricked my eyes.
We finished with Shavasana, lying on our mats, eyes closed, just the sound of music and wind gently stirring leaves on the trees outside.
Catherine’s voice came soothingly into consciousness: “‘Peace. It does not mean to be in a place where there is no noise, trouble or hard work. It means to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart.’”
Beside me another yogi wiped away a tear: New, old, old new, nature’s eternal cycle is a lesson to be learned.
The only Garden Yoga Studio I know in West London: www.yogaW2.com Classes now booking for this term.