The leaves of the silver birch rustle delicately in a lukewarm breeze, rippling shadows onto the grass, rippling sea song to my ears. My eyes take in translucent stream lazily curling from a patterned mug, dark strong coffee cooling slowly from rosebuds and clay.
A juvenile robin explores under the blackcurrant bush, a ball of fluff and feather, curious. It wrestles with a worm, cocking its head to one side, gazing beadily at me as though I may take the prize away. I keep still, silent, and the robin gulps down the rest of its meal, drawing itself up with pride, puffing at me, then flitting away via a bamboo cane and a branch or two.
If this was all my life, this slowness, this mindful moment stolen in between a week of rush and busyness. If this was all my life.
The high pitched peep of baby blue tits, newly hatched, fizzes at the periphery of my hearing. I watch the parents awhile, popping in and out of the box, a relentless day of feeding and flying.
With the new season, the changing days, comes a need to change myself. Just as autumn leads to a nesting, almost hibernation, so spring brings about a rebirth. A time to listen to our deep heartbeat that connects us to this earth, a time to follow the flowers and the trees and grow anew.
From old branches, new growth sprouts, vibrant and colourful. From foundations built long before we can cast away what no longer serves us well. We can burst forth, pushing into the summer, chasing the longer days, relishing the energy.
A time of reflection on this slow day, watching the wonder of nature around me. The contrast of life, from the minute to the massive, all part of the same cycle.
It’s time to change, and grow, and to see where the next adventure can take me.