Looking To The Heavens

The highs and lows of a wintery week.

Following the Clouds | Nåtö, Åland

A cold wind swirled up snow in columns along the road as I drove to work—the picturesque winter landscape, pretty from the warmth of a car. A brave cyclist, bent over the handlebars, close to the road’s edge, battled the gusts as I drove past. No envy from me.

As I continued south, I crossed stretches of water, the road connecting small islands once only accessible by boat. Advances in technology in the early 1970s mean I can drive to work instead of taking a row boat. I’m grateful for that. The roads aren’t very high above the water because there are no tides here, only high and low water in relationship with air pressure in the Baltic (or something like that).

Rounding a slight bend, I noticed the usually calm water was flecked with small peaks, some with white tips. The wind, whipped them to a frenzy as the surface galloped. 

It was then I spotted the crows.

Six of them hovered close to the barricade at the side of the road bridge. In a blink of an eye, a few seconds that it took for me to drive past, I experienced their absolute joy and freedom - crows surfing the wind!

Their wings were spread out wide, finger-like feathers at their tips bent upwards as they all dipped and rose, keeping them in one spot. They were grouped together, all looking out to the water, facing the chilly wind as they surfed the invisible gusts. If I’d been standing next to them, they’d have been head-height.

And just like that, I’d passed them. The feeling they left in me stayed as I kept driving, a broad smile on my face as I thought about bird-surfing, nature and the chilly beauty outside.

It’s only when we slow down—even when driving the car—that we can experience the joys around us. Observing, being curious, and getting out of our heads often takes practice. The thoughts we can be bombarded with hourly can be observed like clouds that pass across a blue sky—recognised for what they are, then let go.

The joy of those crows stayed with me for the rest of the week. Windy weather interspersed with stillness, blue skies, and even sun. Heaven.

Looking to the Sky ~ sunsets from my balcony

On Friday, I happened to look at the clock as I returned home—3 pm—the sun filling our apartment as I peeled off my outer layers. I contemplated the surfing crows, the crisp air, the unusual busyness of the main street as people emerged into the world, a very slight spring feeling in the air.

On Saturday, only some hours ago as I write this, I got a message to say a dear friend had died on Friday—at 3 pm. Just as I was admiring the peace and joy of a sunny day in winter, she left this earthly place for wherever we go when our bodies tire and our souls leave.

The frozen Eastern Harbour waiting patiently for summer

I was out walking in the chilly wind when I got the message, the vibration of the phone distracting me from the frozen water and snow-covered boat moorings patiently waiting for summer’s return. I had known this day would come—at almost 83 years old with an inoperable brain tumour, she herself knew time was limited. The last few times I’d seen her, she’d held my hand, looking into my eyes, making me promise to not put anything off. To enjoy life. To make the most of every second.

It is death that reminds us to live. An inevitable part of life and perhaps not something we (in the culture I live in and come from anyway) deal with very well. Some cultures sit with the body, washing it, dressing it, and saying a gentle goodbye. Others set a place at the table for some time after a death, recognising they are no longer there, the empty space difficult to ignore but perhaps allowing reflection on their life that was.

It makes me wonder if animals grieve. I think elephants cry and grieve loss. I recently watched The Elephant Whisperers documentary on Netflix, a beautiful story of love and loss, which would indicate they do grieve. I’ve seen galahs (who mate for life) sit beside their dead partners for days, risking their own lives in their vigil.

I wonder if crows grieve for their dead? They’re clever birds. Their joy of surfing the wind perhaps comes with sharp feelings of loss—perhaps an ornithologist can tell me.

Highs and lows. Life and death. Love and loss. Blue skies and grey. Reminding us all to embrace life, slow down, and notice. To breathe in joy and love. To speak to ourselves kindly.

And hug our loved ones.

Stay well,

Lisa x

---

A very warm welcome to my new subscribers! Please introduce yourself in the chat on the Substack app (link below), by leaving a comment under the post, or hitting reply on this email. If you know someone who might like this publication, please share it! Sharing is caring 💖