Turning

I am inspired by Cate's post and invitation to write about my thoughts on the word "turnings".

A stone carving on the base of the pulpit of our village church is key to these musings. It is of a monk holding a sunflower. But research proves this not to be so, he is holding a monstrance. And what is a Roman Catholic carving doing in an Anglican village church? It is thought that it belongs the latter half of the fifteenth century - when we were all Roman Catholic I suppose.

Anyway to me it looks like a sunflower. And while delving into this anomaly, I discovered that the Italian for sunflower is girasol (from girare to turn and sol sun)

I've always loved sunflowers. They are the one thing, the sight of which (apart from a dolphin) is guaranteed to make me smile. And to see a field of them is amazing - we don't grow them much in England - too cold I suppose.

(This was taken by my friend Russ in France)

But, and I will get to the point eventually - like us human animals - the sunflowers always turn to the sun. By genetic imprinting deep in their system, their faces follow the sun through the day. And we? We also, I am sure, turn to the Light - in whatever shape or form we perceive it. No-one turns to the Dark naturally. ( I am avoiding all reference to Jedi and Darth Vader)

So at this time of utmost seasonal darkness in our hemisphere, when the world stands poised ready to turn to the Light/Sun/Son that is born, I long for sunflowers nodding in the breeze and turning to the wamth and lifegiving light