Tag: stanage edge

Fog bow

The cat woke me with his heavy weight transferred through his fat kneading front paws alternately pressing into my sticking up right shoulder.

Alfie joined in the attempt to get me to feed them by his repetitive bipping noise.  The old, cheap, mantle clock chimed six so I turned face down in the pillows.

The forecast (a habit I have from Shetland of checking) read that we were to expect fog in the city first thing, then a ball of sun most of the day.  I lay there for a while, my tired body ignoring the purring and bipping cats.   At 7, I gave in and got up, fed and watered the boys, made tea then dressed hurriedly to get out onto the moors.   Fog in the city is boring, I wanted to remember what fog was like in Shetland –  to remember some part of it that used to haunt me for days on end, so I drove up to Burbage fog chasing.  But, at the edge of Ringinglow, bordering on the Derbyshire boundary, the fog started to clear and within seconds, I’d driven through it into pure blue sky and bright sunshine.  Another world.

At Burbage, both the moon and the sun hung in the sky casting their natural magic.   Fog was nowhere to be seen. A real warmth came from the sun high on the peaks at 8:30am.

I walked towards Stanage Edge where the clear moon tilted over the rocks in a beckoning way. The path was bordered by long dead bog grass, heavy with water, looking like a prairie. Then the fog started to drift in below Stanage rocks, blown gently and slowly from the left, in a long soft ribbon, thick enough for the most magnificent natural thing to happen created by the collision of two things – the bright unhindered sun hit the fog and created a fog bow.

I actually squeaked with joy, turned to look back at that sun, then saw all the fronds on the low-lying fluffy grasses hanging in tiny droplets of water shining like glistening small crystals.

The fog bow came fully into sight.

High up on the rocks, at the Edge, the fog rested in the valley over Hope and Hathersage. Every passing person had a photo at the trig, including me. And every passing person was excited by the energy of the sparkling light and visible moving shifting fog. Until, finally, the gentle wind pushed the fog up and over the edge of Stanage, covering both left and right and finally the trig.

What a beautiful world we live in.

Winter Solstice – at the still point of the turning world

At the turning point of the earth, on the shortest day, when the sun is furthest away, I celebrate Winter Solstice thinking of a gradual return of light. Celebrating the Winter Solstice is marked by people all over the world, in their own beautiful, personal ways.

I go outdoors. I wanted to connect with the environment but nothing prepared me for how I responded to that connection.

I waited for sunrise in a white sky. It did not arrive, but I felt its energy opening me up to connect to something hugely greater than self.

As the dank air penetrated, without plan or thought, I stood on the edge of Stanage,  opened my arms, closed my eyes and breathed in connecting with the landscape and something deep within myself.   I rarely express my life’s energy with open arms.  Today, I did. 

Here I am in my favourite spot on Stanage edge. Standing on ancient rocks, facing the horizon, in the split second of raising my arms and closing my eyes, there it was – that one pure moment of inner freedom, letting go, connecting with living the dance of life. 

It is an empowering action to accept life with open arms to allow my inner landscape to melt into the present moment. It is also slightly embarrassing but honest.

TS Eliot came to mind, written in Burnt Norton, one of the Four Quartets, he said it better than I ever could :-

At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor

fleshless;

Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance

is,

But neither arrest nor movement. And do not call it fixity.

Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement

from nor towards,

Neither ascent nor decline.  Except for the point, the still

point,

There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.

I can only say, there we have been : but I cannot say where.

And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time…

I am reminded of the man who gave me these 4 Quartet booklets about 25 years ago.  A wise man, a teacher, a friend, a patron, a good man who was previously the Provost of Derby Cathedral and retired as Vicar at Chatsworth where I also lived at that time. A man who swapped books with me.  I gave him Jeanette Winterson, he gave me TS Eliot and William Morris books. We learned from each other.  I often think of him when I am at the still point of the turning world. And, I am grateful.

Today, I returned to Stanage Edge, as I have done so many times over, to acknowledge my internal and external place in life. I return to the solid rocks again and again connecting to past and present, whilst thinking of future. These stones and rocks become an anchor to steady my heart.

A familiar sight holds me, grouse utter their sounds in the heather, a cow bellows, the wind is a gentle whisper.

It is the shortest day of the year – Winter Solstice and I am finally

home

Cold fingers and knees atop an edge of ancient stones.

Today, I wore my newly finished ‘New Year Beret’, which I started in Shetland and finished in Sheffield. 

If you would like to look at the New Year Beret pattern, it is here.

I wish you a Happy Winter Solstice and I honestly want to say Happy Christmas and Good wishes for the New Year.   I want to say thank you to every one of you who have joined me this last year in an online workshop and thank you to those who have bought a pattern from me.  I’m truly grateful. Tracey, December 2021