Return of the Woodpecker.
Life returns but I feel like it's too soon to come out of hibernation.
My niece is unimpressed by the sound of the woodpecker that greets us as we near the park gates. I am wide eyed and holding my breath, like I am 6 and she is middle aged.
“Let’s see if we can see it”, I whisper.
“But I want to go to the playground.”
“We will. Let’s just look first.”
We follow the hammering sound and eventually locate the woodpecker high up on the trunk of one of the horse chestnut trees. I stand mesmerised watching it as it jumps around, digging out insects and grubs. It seems to be trying to find the perfect spot and I wonder if it is the same one as I saw last year in another tree just across the grass. It is a greater spotted one and I catch flashes of red as it flits about skimming over the gnarled bark of the trunk.
My niece, giving up on her inept aunty, has gone off with M, intent on the far more important business of swings and slides and adult gym machines. I take a last look at the woodpecker and scurry off after them.
***
I haven’t seen it again since that weekend. I miss this woodpecker even though I barely had time to get used to its presence.
I’ve been feeling a bit like the solitary bud on my mother’s cactus, trying to burst into flower while lying supporting against dark green leaves. Usually, Easter break is my favourite holiday, with the promise of all the lighter, warmer, brighter months yet to come. This year, I feel like one foot is floundering around out of its winter bed looking for the sunlight, while the rest of me just wants to stay put in the dark, curled in around myself, oblivious to the outside world.
I try to break this hibernation desire. I go walking; I photograph blossom; I make plans. The enthusiasm sometimes smoulders briefly, a glowing ember, but then gets snuffed out by tiredness, lethargy and a general sense of pointlessness.
I take my sluggish self into the sunshine to try and banish some of the winter rot. At times, there is a temporary respite, but a splinter remains stuck, steadfast. I decide to leave it there and retreat to a shady corner of the living room.
***
Today, we come across a 300 year old European Plane tree. It is believed to be the oldest of this species in the country. It is grand, magnificent, wizened. Surrounded by drooping branches jewelled with buds, I wonder whether it is weary of yet another Spring in which it has to expend its hard-won energy. Is it tired?
I go into Boots to buy hardcore iron tablets wondering if they will do the trick. I can’t work out whether my failure to burst into spring joy is largely a physical or emotional ailment.
***
Time at the beach and walking in stunning countryside with friends revives me, albeit briefly. The sun shines down on us and sparkles off the sea in an idyllic picture-perfect way that slightly takes my breath away. I would like to stay cocooned in the sun and scenery with people who know me well for longer; as R says, it isn’t sufficient time for our coiled, stressed selves to fully stretch out and let go. Returning from this short break is a sudden change of pace once again, as I go from sitting on a train glassy-eyed staring out of the window to being propelled into a big group of people. It seems I have forgotten how to socialise and respond to questions in monosyllables.
***
My friend reassures me that my dreadful memory is not some sinister onset of a disease but simply a tired, hormonal brain. I relax a bit as I find I do remember past events once I have been reminded of some details. I write down everywhere I have been and everything I have done in the last three days to combat my current forgetfulness. At this rate, I will end up like Guy Pearce in Memento.
***
M and I go from the Cathedral Square in Salisbury to the shopping streets. I feel like I am spanning two worlds. One ancient, historic and calm; the other busy, modern and distracting. Maybe this spanning two states is just the way it needs to be for a while. A toe in Spring while the other foot remains in Winter.
Perhaps by the time Summer Solstice arrives I’ll have managed to generate some of my own sunshine, even if it is three months late.
