Holy

I photographed this little grotto some time back, but never used the picture as other things came my way. It seemed like a perfect little home for someone.

Warm and dry. And lined, it seems, with dried grass.

Interesting how holy make you think - and is etymologically connected to - wholeness. That which is holy is whole. The holistic is holy. But I was thinking of holes and the hole at the heart of me.

In some ways, I have had some good news - in that I presented my culture paper to the Animals and Society Institute and it was greeted enthusiastically. I have an offer to present at a symposium in November - and that organisation say they will publish my work. My goodness! Another attendee suggested I write a book and says she is confident that it would get printed.

It was hugely encouraging and I was on a real high afterwards.

But then my doubts come crashing back in and I know that I can't shore up the hole through which my confidence and belief gushes out.

One man at the presentation asked how I keep my faith when I read of extinctions and animal suffering. I said that I had just written a hopeless post about my grief concerning badgers and that all I can do is go to this little copse - where this holy tree is along with the poplar, the ancient oak and the juvenile oak, and just be bathed by birdsong - and maybe, just maybe, see a boxing hare.

I can offer no answers.

One woman asked how we can disseminate this information, change minds, transform human culture. I said, I don't know. It always feels like preaching to the converted.

I can offer no answers.

My holey soul.

On the same day, by the poplar, I saw this.

It must be fabric, though Lord knows how it got inside a brambly bush. Wool. Someone's scarf. Dripping colour into my day.

Strangely it cheered me up that day and does so again now that I look at it.

Another heart-sign by my tree.