A Spring morning

A happy little ramble and poem from this morning

One of my favourite things to do in Spring and Summer, is drink my morning coffee outside, whilst wandering.

Before I brave the chill, I wrap myself cosily in my huge, fluffy dressing gown. I always buy them the way I buy duvets - a size up, because I appreciate the feeling of there being more than enough, ample, extra…..being held, encased.

It is ankle length, has a hood and wearing it feels like being snuggled in the folds of a fat velvety rabbit. Comforted. Parented.

As the season finds her heat, this will give way to a lighter garment but April is still a little fresh for that.

I throw open my front door in a bold, barn-like manner, enjoying that first sweep of morning.

The way the room is drenched with new light.

I widen my mouth, hold back my neck and the air enters my being, cool as a stream. I am ready to meet this baby day, bare foot and open hearted.

Next, I am aware of the flush of soft pink roses settling upon my pale post-slumber cheeks. Not the harsh red roses the Winter places there, for Spring does not bite and pinch the way Winter does. She cajoles, swirls and brushes.

The soles of my feet are next to be awakened. The lick of cold ground tongue is followed by a silver leap that bounds the whole way through me.

Alive! I am alive.

Connected to source.

I stroll up the hill a little, coffee in hand, enjoying the reassuring way that permanence meets impermanence.

The buildings and trees are supported, firm in ground, cemented or rooted, just as they were yesterday and will be tomorrow. Yet, clouds, birds, water and vehicles must travel, move.

This simple scene, for me, mirrors the eternal struggle of human beings. A need for the fixed, the static, at odds with the way things must continue to push ahead.

I walk on, wondering if the little bus will pass and conclude I’m a shoeless, barely dressed crazy lady. But I have no garden and don’t care. My need to experience the charms of this pleasure filled planet, raw and unhampered is stronger than my wish to appear ‘normal’.

My physical body stirred and switched on, I am now fully able to appreciate even more.

I notice the sky is still finding form, its palette playing. Lone lazy Jane clouds are churned in cornflower blue eiderdowns. The horizon is a blur, a muzz. The whites and yellows of soft sun crack as eggs into green pans of hill, the twitter of the birds arriving as splatter.

I walk a little further and bird bicker is broken as biscuit by the warm cooing of the wood pigeons. Unlike most of the smaller garden birds, their song is so relaxed and rounded. It rises above all other sounds, pausing as though they have all the time in the world. It’s a punctuation of welcome peace I am grateful for.

I am also lucky enough to hear running water on my little amble. There’s a field drain which can be gurgling or gushing depending on the recent rainfall. Today it trickles.

Constantly, predictably, faithfully.

I peer into the pooling liquid and see dark mops of moss and algae. Swaying as the caught hair of stream fairies.

I finish my coffee.

Place my cup upon my frosted, twinkling roof.

Surveying this beauty.

And I wonder if there can be a better start to the day than this simple blessing.

Whatever the day may bring, I have had this.

A sweet, nourishing soul breakfast.

A Spring Morning

Street glinted as a minted sheet

To contradict the flowers

Last battles seen of white and green

Occur in fairy hours

The wood pigeons are comforting

The frosted daffodils

All is not lost, they’ll soon defrost

Transform with warm their chills

I whirl and stroll in barefoot awe

Absorb each orb of light

Such splendour right outside my door

Will keep my spirit bright

How many days began as ray

How many more to come

The overcast can never last

The song of Spring has won

.