The early morning sun on my back. The September air fresh and still with
not a hint of movement other than as I walk. The harvest is in and the fields
present a designer stubble decorated only with rooks and sparrows hoovering up
the grains missed by the Harvester. The leaves of the beech tree atop the hill
just on the turn.
Not a soul to be seen, just myself and the dog moving slowly along the
hedgerows, the occasional puff of breath a reminder that a jacket will soon be
necessary. Just not today. The heather in the picnic clearing is liberally
bedecked with cobwebs picked out by the dew. A red squirrel raids the feeders
which I thought were for the birds. The path carpeted with woodpigeon feathers
shows that the struggle goes on whatever the weather. Perhaps the scene was lit
by the Northern Lights but there would have been few to notice, let alone
admire and wonder.
The calm and serenity occasionally interrupted as a drop of dew is
displaced by my passing and unerringly finds the gap between my t-shirt and the
back of my neck. The dog runs around finding who knows what of interest in the
undergrowth, occasionally bouncing around looking for a biscuit in reward for
some trick or other of nature. The return road facing the rising sun highlights
again the spider’s work on the reeds by the path and in the branches of the
trees. I wonder how much life and death is represented by this display – what is
the cobweb:pray ratio?
Gradually coming closer to home – thinking of what might be required to
be done? Pass by the garage to get a newspaper, shopping for food for the rest
of the weekend, get the dog on her leash before she annoys somebody. One last
lingering look over the gold to green landscap from the crest of the hill. A deep breath to
understand what is meant by ‘fresh air’, turn and head home. As near to a perfect
start to the day as it is possible to get. Sometimes it is good just to be
alive.
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