As May turns to June at Llangasty Retreat House
Swifts a swifting, darting solo or in quick but graceful formation up into the eaves and out again -busy, busy.
In contrast the lake is still, the main activity a distant boat gently gliding, and a few swans a swanning in the unexpected heat.
The shaggy weeping tree is gently swaying in the breeze- and each sway says:
I will be here long after you stop taking advantage of my shade,
and picking up my cones for your nature table.
The field is a working surface for some heavily pregnant staring, munching cows.
In the distance, near Saint Gastyn’s, a tree that looks like a giant bonsai, refusing to budge despite storm damage.
In the air, the smell of early lavender, rosemary and pine.
The Lawn - freshly mowed - shows off smart stripes inviting us to the tree seat for a different view of house and lake.
Sitting on the veranda in the wonderful silence and the welcome warmth of the day, sipping freshly made percolated coffee, contentedly looking over to the lake or with the psalmist up to the mountains.
In the distance, the sound of excited children learning to sail.
The silence broken three times a day by the gong inviting us to replenish our bodies without a thought about shopping, cooking, or washing up.
The only task to give joyful thanks for all who are around the table, for all that is on the table, and all who have laboured so that we can relax and enjoy.
When the silence lifts - all the usual questions:
Which house is the vicarage?
Was that a bird of prey?
What is the name of that mountain?
How long will it take to walk to the bird hide?
Have you seen the Church - did you smell the rambling roses?
All the time the chapel door is wide open.
The sacramental light is flickering, inviting us to absorb the grace of Christ’s presence.
Every day about eleven, the short radio blast of the postman’s van reminds us briefly of the world that is still going frantically on without us, (some retreatants will still use the mobile - silently texting unsure if the world out there will survive without their contact.)
Some are reading in the library, or just sitting in the lounge thinking, resting, or descending to the cool crypt to be alone,
or dozing on the bed - or even trying to write this reflection! (No rests for the scribbler)
And at the very heart of all this?
The Icon of the Transfiguration, silently speaking of death and resurrection of the glory that can transform us now and bring all to completion.
Swifts a swifting, darting solo or in quick but graceful formation up into the eaves and out again -busy, busy.
In contrast the lake is still, the main activity a distant boat gently gliding, and a few swans a swanning in the unexpected heat.
The shaggy weeping tree is gently swaying in the breeze- and each sway says:
I will be here long after you stop taking advantage of my shade,
and picking up my cones for your nature table.
The field is a working surface for some heavily pregnant staring, munching cows.
In the distance, near Saint Gastyn’s, a tree that looks like a giant bonsai, refusing to budge despite storm damage.
In the air, the smell of early lavender, rosemary and pine.
The Lawn - freshly mowed - shows off smart stripes inviting us to the tree seat for a different view of house and lake.
Sitting on the veranda in the wonderful silence and the welcome warmth of the day, sipping freshly made percolated coffee, contentedly looking over to the lake or with the psalmist up to the mountains.
In the distance, the sound of excited children learning to sail.
The silence broken three times a day by the gong inviting us to replenish our bodies without a thought about shopping, cooking, or washing up.
The only task to give joyful thanks for all who are around the table, for all that is on the table, and all who have laboured so that we can relax and enjoy.
When the silence lifts - all the usual questions:
Which house is the vicarage?
Was that a bird of prey?
What is the name of that mountain?
How long will it take to walk to the bird hide?
Have you seen the Church - did you smell the rambling roses?
All the time the chapel door is wide open.
The sacramental light is flickering, inviting us to absorb the grace of Christ’s presence.
Every day about eleven, the short radio blast of the postman’s van reminds us briefly of the world that is still going frantically on without us, (some retreatants will still use the mobile - silently texting unsure if the world out there will survive without their contact.)
Some are reading in the library, or just sitting in the lounge thinking, resting, or descending to the cool crypt to be alone,
or dozing on the bed - or even trying to write this reflection! (No rests for the scribbler)
And at the very heart of all this?
The Icon of the Transfiguration, silently speaking of death and resurrection of the glory that can transform us now and bring all to completion.
