TUESDAY, LENT 4/WOOLLY 23 DAY 80/WALSINGHAM PILGRIMAGE DAY 18



In the bluebell woods, silence
Speaks in tongues. The eloquence
Of the small river moving always forward to the unseen
Sea is like the cherubim's, clean
With the cleanliness of humility, crying
Holy, hiding their eyes.

from Richeldis of Walsingham

In my own garden, bluebells are opening, making me think of these lines from the poem cycle that closes my book, Motherland. 

Today's agenda: 

*walk the dog

*consider the essays I need to write

*peck away a little more at my "Pearl Poet" novel, which I've been looking at again

*maybe try to plant the dahlias I bought last week, now that I can see clearly where the peonies are coming up and where they aren't. 

SOMEWHAT LATER: 

I've walked the dog: just over 3 miles this morning on our pilgrimage leg. Settled into a groove of praying the Divine Praises, meditating on my intentions, praying a rosary, then meditating again on various verses or aspirations or the Jesus Prayer, changing with roughly each new segment of the greenway trail, between street crossings. 

Now I'm back and waiting for my lunch leftovers to heat up. Yesterday I'd made "quinoa fried rice," by which I mean that I substituted quinoa for rice. I sauteed it with a little sesame oil and coconut aminos and a squidge of ginger paste, then added frozen mixed vegetables. Last, I stirred in three eggs and continued stirring over heat until the eggs were cooked. This made a decent lunch, and I had enough both to send with my husband for his lunch at school yesterday, and to reheat today for myself. 




Wearing today, before I forget: 



Especially in this week after Laetare Sunday, I'm counting this pinky-purple merino base-layer tee, which I'm wearing with my Sierra dress, thrifted bamboo-blend leggings, old Target socks, and thrifted Birkenstock Jackson hiking boots, as a purple for Lent. Also wearing some purple in my earrings (pardon the fuzzy photo-crop job). 



Anyway, purple. 

Sierra still leads the March field for most wears. The heavier wool knit lends itself well to this changeable weather we've been having --- which I must now call spring, because technically it is. We've passed the equinox, and now the hours of daylight are lengthening out to overbalance the hours of night. That it's chilly out doesn't change that essential fact. In another month, God willing, I'll have my summer garden planted. Easter will have come and settled in for its Great 50 Days. We'll be looking forward to Ascensiontide and Pentecost. The great wheel turns, and here we are on it, going around and around but always forward. 

Here's the creek by the playing fields, where Dora and I did some of our walking this morning: 



It makes me think of the hermit's hidden mountain creek, but also of the little river that flows through the ruined priory and manor lands at Walsingham --- where, at least in my mind, I shall soon be. As of this morning I've gone nearly 80 miles of the 120 I had set myself. Only 40 and a bit left to go. Perhaps by bedtime tonight I'll have eliminated the "and a bit."