The Changing Wind

Short musing on the passage of time

Yesterday, I couldn't take my eyes off the trees outside the chalet whilst washing up and tidying the kitchen after the lunchtime rush. I was struck by how vivid the vegetation suddenly seemed. After days and days of rain and dark skies, the leaves seemed to be almost a fluorescent green in the sunshine. In the mountains, winter moves through spring and into summer at a furious pace; people suddenly emerge to rake over their vegetable patches and plant row upon neat row of onions, lettuces and cabbages. The leaves appear quite suddenly too.

I have been watching a willow tree outside my window for the last month or so. It bends right out onto the waterfall that runs above and around our chalet. I seemed to have waited ages for its catkins to appear, but I must have missed looking at the tree for a couple of days because when I next looked out, all the branches were swathed in bright green and succulent leaves. I was quite shocked that I had missed it.

I once read that a mother had made a resolution to look at the dimples of her child's hands every day so that she would not miss the knuckles forming, signifying the moment when her child became a grown person. I tried this too, but the changes are much too slow to notice of course. One day I will remember to look again and I'm sure I will see a full set of knuckles staring up at me, along with my daughter's knowing smile, "I am grown up now Mummy."

Sometimes I am shocked at how quickly time passes, it seems like only yesterday since my elest daughter was two and we moved to France. She was small and baby-like then, just like my youngest is now; saying a few first words, curious at the new world around her. She will be six in September - Six.

And it seems like only yesterday I gave birth to my youngest; pink and small in my arms at the local maternity clinic at the bottom of the valley. The snow was thick on the ground then, my midnight blizzard-baby. I remember hearing foxes screeching to one another that first night in my hot french hospital room.

She will have proper knuckles soon.

Yesterday a wind picked up around lunchtime - strangely for this valley - funnelled as it is between two high mountain cliffs. I sat for a while watching the wind rippling and then ripping through the trees, fascinated at how some wispy trees danced and swayed madly, whilst others like the conifers, hardly budged - solid and safe. It reminded me of the forest scene in 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon', where the two sword fighters balance on the tips of blustery branches as they fight each other hand to hand, bending nearly to the ground with their weight. The only sound to be heard is the high whooshing of the wind through the leaves.

My computer desk looks out of the window onto the waterfall and the forest up behind the chalet. As if to echo my quiet musings just now, a huge gust of wind just tore through the garden, slamming shutters and turning chairs in its wake. It does that sometimes. It made me stop to look out at the tumultuous scene. Perhaps there will be a storm tonight.