A postscript to my post “Hey Autumn, You Took Me By Surprise.” It’s a very short thought on the climate crisis and the devastating floods in Nepal and Tibet.
In August 2026
Lavender fades early
Bees leave the garden
A glacier collapses
The collapsed glacier hits the bottom of a valley.
Flood water and debris travel 62 miles downstream.
Buildings, roads, and vehicles are swept away.
And people.
People,
People
swept away
buried
missing.
Thousands of them.
About 4,500 miles lie between my garden lavender and the loss of life in Nepal and Tibet.
On our beautiful planet, in a climate crisis, may we find the connection.
In 2015 I visited Nepal on a Fair Trade Meet the People Tour, organised by the travel company Saddle Skedaddle. Unfortunately, they don’t run those tours anymore.
2015 was the year of a devastating earthquake in Nepal and we saw the effects of earthquake damage and the resilience of the people. It is heartbreaking to know that eleven years later, that beautiful country has again been hit by tragedy.
Here is a summery story. It’s part of a longer story. It includes a book recommendation. It gives a little picture of the English seaside. Who knows what someone is thinking when we pass them on the beach?
Pale yellow sunlight crept through, under and around the thin curtains at the caravan windows. Bright lines spread over the single bed and nudged Marie’s eyelids open. She had slept soundly once the music, shouting and laughter had died down outside and presumably the children had gone to bed.
The adult conversation had soon turned to cries of goodnight and see you on the beach tomorrow and then one by one the lights went out all over the holiday site.
Marie put down her novel, switched off her bedside lamp and fell asleep. The book she was reading was called The Correspondent, by Virginia Evans, and it told a woman’s life story through the letters she wrote.
Marie had slept soundly, soothed by the gentle breeze hardly rocking the caravan and she woke with the dawn. She pushed open the small window and smelt the salt on that breeze. She smiled at the faint sound of waves crashing on the shore and the louder sound of gulls screeching to greet the morning.
Marie had a plan. She would get out and about while her fellow holiday makers slept on, before the salty breeze was overwhelmed by the smell of frying bacon and the sound of the breakers drowned out by streamed music, squabbling teenagers and yells for children to stop playing and eat something.
She would walk on the beach before it was invaded by a splashing, squealing army wielding buckets and spades, bats and balls, bottles of pop, crisps and sandwiches.
She pulled on her jeans and tee shirt and shoved her feet into flip flops, before opening the caravan door and walking down the steps.
Bright, brave, red geraniums caught her eye, pushing their way through the parched ground around the caravan. They could do with some water, she thought.as she strode past.
She stepped over the short, hard-wearing grass and along the stony walkway leading towards a narrow, sandy track. She shivered when her feet sank into cold, damp sand. Sharp grit bit into her toes and yellow gorse and purple sea holly tore at her bare arms.
The path narrowed as she climbed upwards with laborious sinking steps and she was careful to avoid bits of broken-down wood and wire fencing which had been beaten down by the vegetation it was meant to hold back.
Scratched toes and arms weren’t part of her plan, but as she neared the top of the sandhill, the going got easier. Patches of blue appeared in the grey sky, and she stopped to take some deep breaths. Tall, spiky grass swayed in the breeze and pink sea thrift and blue lupins filled the air with scent. A buzzing bee announced that it wasn’t just her and the gulls who were awake.
Taking one more step, Marie looked over the brow of the hill and at last she saw the sea, vast, grey and noisy, crashing onto the golden sand of the wide beach.
She slid down the other side of the hill on soft sand and set out across the beach towards the tempting waves. The water was freezing as it quickly covered her feet and soaked her jeans, but she kept on paddling. The waves tore at her flip flops, and she watched them float away.
To float away, how easy would that be? Would anyone notice?
She remembered her book that was waiting for her by her bed, and the letters written by that woman. Maybe she should write a letter, but who would read it?
She tasted salt water on her lips. It was trickling down her cheeks, and she wiped away her tears as she walked further into the shallows.
The shifting ground suddenly shelved into a dip. A stronger wave took her by surprise. It pushed against the side of her knees. Marie wobbled and before she could right herself, another wave hit her from behind. It took her breath away and she lost her footing. Now she was up to her neck in sea water and a wave washed over her head.
She heard a child cry out and forced herself to stand upright and get her bearings. Facing the shore, she saw an older man, a young girl and a dog watching her.
She dragged herself to her feet and waded back to dry land. She was shivery and heavy in her sodden clothes and when she got to the beach, the dead weight of sand clung to her.
A voice called out from the little family. Are you alright? Do you need any help?
I’m fine, she said, I’ve got to get back. Breakfast and a book are waiting for me and the geraniums need watering.
A small interlude between Christmas Story Characters, in which I share some of my thoughts and feelings about Christmas.
So how is it going? Christmas? I’d like to hear about how you feel about it all.
Me, I have mixed feelings. I love Christmas. I love to celebrate the birth of Jesus. That for me is full atonement, nothing separating us from God now. Jesus shows us who God is, but he also shows us what humanity really is, so his birth is well worth celebrating.
Photo by Jessica Lewis ud83eudd8b thepaintedsquare on Pexels.com
I also like all the midwinter festivity. December would be pretty grim without Christmas lights, and I like the midwinter urge to brighten our houses against the long nights, huddle together, eating and drinking and telling stories.
At our university of the third age song and story group, we learnt a song. The lyrics are by Bill Meek. It’s called I Am Christmas:
The first line is “I will sew a braid of gold on grey December’s ragged sleeve.”
I love those words. December would indeed feel ragged without a fancy hem to neaten off the year.
However, alongside all the enjoyable things, I often feel like my heart is going to break and my head is going to burst. The cruel jagged, ragged edges of life seem much worse against all the Christmas expectations. Personal tragedy and international violence cry out against celebrating the birth of the Prince of peace. Homelessness, disease and poverty jars against the sugar-coated Christmas adverts.
And yes, all those adverts! And it all starts so soon! I feel compelled to do more, buy more and be more to make the perfect Christmas happen and I fail badly against my impossible expectations!
What’s more, the ghosts of Christmas past crowd in on me. I remember the way it used to be, I remember old friends who I don’t know any more (I know we can’t keep up with everyone) and yes, those who’ve died seem close, but they are untouchable. Add to all that the sense of passing time and it makes for a very intense and sometimes heavy season for me.
Still, I wouldn’t change it. Life isn’t just a bundle of laughs and Jesus wasn’t born so that we could have a great party, even though he was a fan of parties. He was born so we can know life in all its fulness and that includes living with unease.
This December, I read these words by the poet Wendell Berry:
“The empire of money, war and fire
Cuts across the land.
There are in the same country
Shepherds watching their flocks.”
Wendell Berry, published in Plough Quarterly magazine, December 2025.
It reminds me that everyday goodness carries on and that reminder is a blessing.
It also links nicely to my next post! Can you guess what Christmas story characters that will feature?
