"A person is alive according to the degree of his sense of wonder." Cecil Collins

The first day of May dawned bright, the entire garden shining with raindrops. There is a ‘splendour’ of mixed blossom, with flowers bright both in their unfolding and in the dropping of their petals. Their inner being, like ours, reveals itself in its emerging fruit. There is something very moving about seeing the little fruit forming as the petals fall.

Yesterday afternoon I had the joy of seeing a family of blackbirds in a more sheltered garden. The parents filled their beaks with food, approached the fledglings, who then opened their beaks wide. It reminded me of human parents feeding their young from a spoon. Other small birds were bathing in shallow bowls placed there for them. It had only just stopped raining and all the plants sparkled with drops of water.

Thursday 6th May

I’ve just come in from the garden.

Wet cats, blossom falling, leaving petal petticoats around the trunks of trees.

Pale blue and purple flowers in the beds, with a daub of orange from Welsh poppies.

Crinkled petals on a red tulip make a wondrous design - too delicate to be touched.

Yesterday I watched a veritable armada of snail galleons riding a sea of grass, while the herring gulls keened overhead. Pigeons landed silently for their share of seeds as nervous magpies dodged the crows.

7th May

While fasting for an endoscopy I watched our gardener mowing the traditional straight lines on the lawn. They seem to alternate between pale and dark green. Going away from the House, the mown swathe looks pale: coming towards the House, the swathe looks darker. If one walks along a dark one, and then turns round, one sees it as pale because of the direction the rollers have pushed it.....

Those waiting either as patients or companions in the hospital comprised of noisy toddlers, young parents and deeply lined senior citizens, including a very pale man in a wheelchair accompanied by his wife. The desk attendants and nurses all looked young, and did their best to smile and be polite. I saw, for the first time in public, how a young mother tried to contain her lively but awkward son and daughter without any verbal or physical ‘abuse’. She did very well, putting her finger to her lips, and when the naughty girl ran off screaming with laughter, the mother quietly went after her, and placed her on her lap. It was a continual attempt to stop the children from disturbing the silent gloom which had settled upon those waiting for their relations to emerge from the examination area..... Some came out with a wan smile, while others came out like white-faced zombies.

Then it was my turn, with a long wait in another waiting room, with the TV on and discussions about the result of the Elections. Nick Clegg seemed to be the most principled politician, while Gordon Brown still stood his ground even though the Conservatives had obtained the most seats in Parliament. While I waited quite a series of patients came and went. Some were in night attire, and others remained in day clothes. I think those carefully prepared for bed had opted for anaesthetic, while another one or two had decided on the throat spray.

I was then called for as further forms had to be filled in by a Nurse. I chose to have a throat spray to numb it for about thirty minutes rather than an anaesthetic, which would make me forget the procedure and make me unsteady for twenty-four hours. The investigation followed quite quickly.

Reply to a question from a friend. I have no idea what it is like when one is dying. There are so many different ways of dying, the best of which may just be slipping away in sleep. (When I was a child I used to imagine my death-bed scene...... the misunderstood heroine of the shining hour.) If one is conscious, I think the past just disappears, or comes in gentle waves of memory. There is no more time to think about it. Some people, as they slip away, hold their arms out to an unseen presence, with their faces glowing. Others seem utterly weary and sink into unconsciousness. Some people, who have learned to be grateful for life and all its gifts, would see the past in the glow of the setting sun. Some, who have not accepted the fact of death, may well rebel against leaving life before they had lived it to the full.

We awoke to a misty November morning on Friday 21st May. There was dew on the grass. Even the horse-chestnut tree was dripping moisture on the parched soil beneath it, while silent wood pigeons pecked at the seed scattered for them.

It is still the season of harmonies in blue and purple in the flower beds, while Peruvian mouse-plants nestle at the roots. Welsh poppies, with their little caps at strange angles early in the morning, stand tall and bright in every shade from pale yellow to deep orange amid the forget-me-nots. (I still remember being fascinated by the long pointed wizard hats worn by eschscholtzia in the south of England of my childhood. I have not noticed any here on the border with Wales. Having looked up the spelling of eschscholtzia, I noticed that the COD says it is called ‘Noah’s night cap’. It is named after the explorer Eschscholtz.)

It is a wonderful summer’s day here, although the garden is still making a floral bridge between Spring and Summer.

One morning I awoke early with cramp and heard a gentle tap on my door. I opened it cautiously and saw cat Joseph squatting close to an inert form. I put out my hand and took hold of a warm furry body. It sank its teeth into me, so I knew it was a mouse! I deposited it outside close to the boundary fence and potential safety.

There is almost too much life in the garden now: Scent wafts from various lilac bushes, from wallflowers, from herbs. Strawberries are in bloom, and a stalk of rhubarb has been allowed to flower. The red horse-chestnut flowers make a lovely background to the pond - which is full of algae as the pump has been knocked-over by the ducks again. The blossom from ornamental trees has fallen, bedecking shrubs with pink blossom. The heads of forget-me-nots speckle the ground. . Verbal descriptions cannot make one feel the freshness of the morning.

Then there was a night of stock-taking as so many people are in need of prayer. We also have to accommodate ourselves to visitors, aware that the monastic ideal of silence often ripples with words, only to subside after a few moments. Somehow I do not find that offensive, even though the readings at supper about monastic silence and manner of speech may not tally. As one retreat Father said so very long ago, one should not blame the lack of circumstantial tranquillity for any lack of progress in one’s inner life.

Having written that, I was given a clear demonstration of this in the garden. The usual variety of birds came down for seeds and food remnants. An adult herring gull warned the only other herring gull - a youngster - to stay away. Joseph the cat ran among the pigeons and scattered them, while Goldie and Brunie crouched amid the fragrant scents of the flower beds. Further on a robin was making alarm signals, yet underneath it all there was a deep sense of stillness, of inner silence in the garden. The earth was still, the grass stood still, and no petals stirred.

The mandala which began without inspiration, without a theme, had to be scrapped ..... but not until some of the work was carefully cut out. I began again and found the theme: Dandelion Dream. The dandelion is dreaming of the flowers around it: they become part of it in its dream. But the dandelion does not lose its own identity or its destiny. Its seeds will still fly away, wafted on the breeze. Whether I can convey this is quite another matter!