Colours

Last night began with Crimson, a sweet young ewe whose first experience of motherhood was proving anything but easy.

When the call came that something was wrong, we hurried to her side. Her first little boy was breech and needed our help to enter the world. But heartbreakingly, the little lamb we would name Garnet was born without ever drawing breath.

And yet Crimson’s labour was not over.

With more lambs to come, a bitterly cold night settling in and a wily fox nearby, we brought her safely to sanctuary.

And we waited.

When Crimson told us she needed help again, we gloved up, lubed up and gently reached in.

Enter Jasper.

Lanky, lean and stained yellow by meconium, the first waste passed by a newborn and sometimes released during a difficult birth, he took a little while to find those impossibly long legs. Then came that moment which, no matter how many times we witness it, still steals our breath.

Life stood up.

One hour and 37 minutes later, Crimson called upon us again. The trust she placed in human hands was not lost on us.

Then, only minutes before midnight, after some more dexterous assistance, Scarlet slipped into the world. She was sweet, strong and already wonderfully independent.

Crimson. Garnet. Jasper. Scarlet.

Four lives woven through one long night in all its colours—sorrow and joy, loss and life, darkness and hope.

And much later, as we finally made our way to bed, a slender crescent moon hung in the night sky, brilliant Venus shining close beside her, guiding us through the darkness.

Perhaps that was the night’s final reminder.

Life is never painted in just one colour. And even the darkest canvas can still hold light.