A Quiet Heart

And blistered fingers.

I weeded so hard today I’ve got blisters and bruises to show for it. My fingers are really sore actually, and my knees bruised from all the kneeling on uneven stony surfaces. My back is achy and ouch, my neck stiff and if I never see another dandelion again it’ll be too soon.

What I revelled in today, however, was the peace and quiet I found while weeding. There was no machinery making noises, no people around. It was just me, Socks (the yard cat) and the flood of weeds in front of me. Socks, for whatever reason, decided to follow me on the other side of the fence, sitting down whenever I stopped to dig at a patch. He watched most of what I did fairly intently, and gave me some sound advice when I queried him about some of my worries. His yawning and rolling will not go unremembered.

I also had a chat with the Midgelet earlier in the day. When I’d finished poo-picking, I found myself feeling a little bit dizzy. Probably because I hadn’t drunk enough beforehand. So I decided to take a seat on one of the cross country jumps for a few minutes before heading up the yard. Within ten seconds of closing my eyes, I felt a nudge and looked round to see Midge standing next to me. She plonked her chin on my shoulder and breathed out, warmly. So we sat like that for a bit. Me perched on a wooden jump, her resting her increasingly heavy head on me.  She’s a very sweet mare, I don’t care what anyone else says. Such a chilled out, gentle horse. I took a picture of her the other day…here you go:

She followed me up to the fence and when I climbed through, stood there and watched me go up the slope. That’s why she looks so oddly proportioned; she’s downhill from me. Cutie though.

What I find fairly amusing is that people always seem to think there’s something wrong with me when I go quiet. Admittedly, sometimes I’m so furious I fear that saying a single word will cause me to lose the ability to bite back all the things that will cut beyond repair. On the whole, however, when I’m quiet it’s usually because I’m just taking things in. Despite the sarcastic comments, quick laugh and confident vibe I throw at people, I enjoy just sitting quietly and watching. Seeing the world as it is rather than making it what I want it to be.

When it comes to expressing myself I’ve always been quite withdrawn. Some people reading this might scoff and think “yeah right, she doesn’t see what we see”. And to them I say, the expressions you see are not the important ones. Telling someone how pissed off I am about something, or that I’m “in a really good mood” is not what I mean. I’m talking about the deeper stuff, the stuff that really matters. The stuff that can make or break a person.

Grand gestures have never been my thing. Nor has stamping my feet and making a scene; I tried it once as a kid and it didn’t work. I don’t cry often, and certainly not in public. Don’t get me wrong, I am a loyal friend and a fiercely emotional person. I feel things deeply and always have. I just don’t shout about it. I have a quiet heart, one that will send a small messenger to tap you on the shoulder and whisper “hey, you, you’re important to me” at a time that no-one else will even notice it’s happening. Because those times are usually when we need that most. And once I’ve told you you’re important, even if it was under my breath, I won’t take it back anytime soon, even if I don’t say it again.

So when I am quiet, it’s unlikely there’s anything wrong. I’m probably just fine, just me. Because today I spent my time at work being very quiet, with murmured discussions with a horse and a cat, or silence. Beautiful, blissful silence.

So, my friend, go quietly. And have a poem to feed your soul.


“Had I the heaven’s embroidered cloths,
 Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.”

William Butler Yeats


That is all.

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