Meadow of Hope

Beginnings – I like this word, suggesting a fresh start, spring, transformation. Anticipation of a new phase, a birth, or even the conception of a new life. Every year we have an opportunity to begin again. On January first, no matter what beliefs or culture one has, the whole world is celebrating the start of a new year. We all get so busy by December, clearing out the old, the undone, rushing around to complete as many outstanding things as we can. Then about a month later, there is the Chinese New Year, and for those to whom it’s traditional, those who are into astrology, or simply have a curious mind, this too is a second chance to begin again.

Sometimes to begin something new, we must let go of the old. In spirituality death is a beautiful symbol of transformation. It’s an unstoppable force and nothing to be afraid of. For a plant to blossom in spring, its old leaves must die to pave the way for the new ones to be born.

Beginnings – I can think of the beginning of a romance, blossoming like a tender rose bud, intoxicating with its fragrant velvet-like petals. Then it takes me to Chiswick House and Gardens in London, with its rose alleyway. Each rose shrub is perfumed in a unique way, and it’s not only the pretty pastels of the blossoms that seduce by the variety of their shades, but their fragrances too.

I would rather be in the wild nature though, not restricted by manicured Jasmin fences and immaculately cut lawns. Somewhere in a meadow, rich with wildflowers on a fresh morning, when the sun is still gentle with its kisses that are pleasantly warm. I want to walk through the unruly grasses, moist from condensation and tears of joy of many lovers, who have ever felt connected to another: a soulmate, a friend, a moment of creative flow. That pure bliss pouring into the gaps, created by the loss of ourselves in the moment, lived fully and carefree. Even if one isn’t loved back, to love is to be alive, to feel, to breathe, to be. I breathe in the morning air of a new day as I inhale hope and release anything that no longer belongs. I release, I set free, I let go as I invite new beginnings into my life.

Saraya opened the electric gate for us. It’s so strange to see this old iron gate with shabby turquoise paint operated by modern technology. We entered through the cobbled walkway, following the fragrance of lavender and blush roses as bees attracted to the floral nectar.

Here she comes. Short, stunningly beautiful. Brown skin, lustrous dark hair and wide smile, skinny legs and broad shoulders. ‘Come in. Bill isn’t here,’ she says. Bill is her husband, who we have been dealing with up until today. Bill is British, she is Indian from South Africa. They bought Bastide St. Mathieu five years ago and moved to the South of France. Here in the outskirts of Grasse and a few minutes drive from Valbonne, one is hidden in land of Provence amongst the sweet meadows of delightful blooms, local vegetable markets and boulangeries.

Richard and I got engaged. His brother proposed to his girlfriend a week later. She was four years older and in a rush, so we suggested they get married first. We were engaged for two years, so didn’t think of planning a wedding for some time. I never dreamt of being a bride or thought of my wedding dress until the time came. I didn’t even want a wedding, but Richard did. I thought it was a way of bringing everyone together from different geographic locations, bridging cultures and language gaps.

Everywhere we went in London had crazy carpets and portraits of unknown people in grand golden frames. These weren’t me. I wanted a garden party, wild flowers and sunshine. I bought a wedding magazine for inspiration and there it was. An idillic country house, cladded in ivory coloured stones with sea green wooden shutters, lavender and rose garden, olive trees and a bit of dancing space outside. ‘Let’s go,’ we thought, and so we did.

© 2021 Anna Meylakh All Rights Reserved


Anna founded with the intention to bring together a global community of readers and writers through various events, including WN Book Club and Evening In, dedicated to exploring Women Who Run with the Wolves by Dr. Clarissa Pincola Estes. Outside of her love for literary arts, she paints and works as a life coach You can find her art on FB or Instagram: @raspberrylining.

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