Dawn chorus, courtesy of the birds outside my bedroom window at 5am.
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?
Get more Life In The Fresh Air! Subscribe to my monthly newsletter.
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.
I walked, insignificant beneath
peeling bark hanging in strings,
revealing subtle pinks,
Through tree fern gullys, tracery of
fronds filtering the sun,
shady green, dappled.
And everywhere, birds flitted,
colourful, exotic to my eyes.
The parched fallen gum leaves
crackled beneath my feet.
I was almost, but not quite, lost,
weary after hours of walking,
but now heading in the direction
My head was full of colours and sounds,
the smell of eucalyptus
welcome in my nostrils.
And then, a familiar call,
a stirring in the trees ahead,
the sense of being watched
a glimpse of movement,
and suddenly I was surrounded
by black cockatoos.
I stopped in wonder,
I must have spent an hour
watching, camera clicking
while they chatted and pecked
and clambered around the branches.
They knew I was there.
They didn’t care.
I was the one who was
blessed by our meeting.
The sun streams onto my desk
distracting me with an open invitation.
I wander outside into the crisp
freshness of September
(I really should be working)
air cool, sun warm,
what a delicious combination.
I stroll, and admire the flowers.
This year’s robins practice their trills
and chase each other around the garden
(I should be working, really)
Dewy cobwebs sparkle.
The Chinese lanterns glow
like orange setting suns.
(Should I really be working?)
I have all the time in the world
long years of it left,
but this one moment of early autumn,
this particular combination of weather
and flowers and birdsong
will never happen again in
exactly the same way.
So I savour it.
Savouring the end of summer
among the last blooms of
thrift and sea campion,
the cries of unseen kittiwakes,
clouds of swallows and martins
and the arrow-straight splashing dives of gannets.
It’s that time of year when every bit of warm sunshine is savoured. The air is cooler now, the wind is blowing from the north, but out of the wind the sun is still hot. We sat in the sun on the Mull of Galloway, sharing the end of summer with the birds. Soon they will be leaving, the kittiwakes out to sea, the swallows, house martins and gannets heading south for warmer climes. A day to remember, sunshine,warmth and memories to light us through the winter darkness ahead.
Ghostly pine trees,
hilltops lost in mist,
lake reflecting grey.
then rain in sheets
scudding across the water.
Sweating in waterproofs
with leaky boots,
step by step
we are rinsed,
I used to worry.
What will the neighbours think
if I do tai chi in the garden?
This summer I tried it.
What a gift,
being present outdoors
at the end of the day.
the wind in the trees,
flowers, bats, hedgehogs, owls,
the moon, clouds, rain,
the setting sun,
a scattering of stars,
mars, even saturn
have been part of my practice this summer.
Who cares what the neighbours think!
I’ve been in this peaceful corner of the internet for nine months now.
I wanted a place to write, to explore ideas, to experiment, to see what this blogging thing was all about. To share, maybe, if anyone found my blog.
I started out thinking I’d write about creativity, and how to fit it into a busy life, about nature, and the importance of connecting with the natural world.
I luxuriated in language. I wrote about things that I don’t usually talk about, feeling safely anonymous among millions of bloggers.
I haven’t been trying to promote my blog, but somehow I now have some followers.
♥ Thank you! ♥
I follow some of the people who have commented or followed my blog and now every weekend my inbox contains poetry and stories. Some of my favourites so far:
The Cedar Journal – adventures of a Cedar Canoe
Elle Guyence, who writes a beautiful poem every week
So, I’m going to keep on writing, exploring, experimenting and reading and see what the next nine months bring for Life In The Fresh Air!