At the end of the garden
the bench in early evening sun
I read a new book,
Chinese mountain poetry,
a subject about which
I know little.
it seems we write
about the same things.
Then a sparrow chirps
in the hedge,
pulls me fully
into the present moment.
Always, and only,
As you may know if you’ve been reading this blog recently, there is news in the garden too. And usually it’s more interesting than the actual news.
Today’s breaking garden news, baby slow worms, curled like bootlaces under some old roof tiles. So small! I see adult slow worms in the garden occasionally, but never baby ones.
Here is one, it’s not a great photo, I was tempted to poke it so it unfurled, but the slow worm would not have liked that, so I didn’t!
a pile of petals.
I love these pink rock rose flowers. In the morning they are closed and covered in dewdrops. As the day warms up they open and face the sun. By evening the petals are starting to fall and by the following morning petals lie like crumpled pink tissue paper on the soil. Luckily there are plenty more flowers waiting to open.
I sip my first cup of tea
surrounded by birdsong
as bees breakfast on the columbines.
Now that warmer weather has arrived, I have started having breakfast outside in the garden instead of mindlessly slumping on the sofa in front of breakfast TV news.
We’ve had a run of lovely mornings; blue sky, sunshine, fresh cool morning air.
I find this so calming. The immersion in nature relaxing my body and mind. The felt sense of my belonging, my need for this outdoor world.
I resolve, even when the weather is bad and I have breakfast indoors, to stay away from the morning TV news with all its negativity and trivia, telling me things I don’t need to know, ignoring the things I consider to be important. It gives me the impression that the world is a dangerous place, when just outside my window the world itself is telling me a different story. It sends me into my day with a sense of unease.
There is news in the garden too, much of it in a language I barely understand, passed on in song or bee-dance. Some of it is every bit as sensational as the TV news, tales of life and death. Did the baby blackbirds in the nest in the hedge make it through the night? (its awfully quiet in there). Did the deer eat my broad bean plants? There are stories of growth, news of the flowers most ripe with nectar and pollen, of turf wars between the robins.
Out here there is no clock in the corner of the screen hurrying along the minutes, so I linger, then sit down to work a little later than I planned. I take indoors with me a sense of calm that permeates my day.
What are your morning routines? Do they make you happy?
May rushes on,
a juggernaut of growth,
an expansion into summer fullness.
Pay attention to every moment
or I will slip through your fingers.
The robin in the holly tree
pours liquid song
into my ears.