It’s a gorgeous day and I can’t think of anything I’d change. Everything feels perfectly aligned, like when you’re opening a combination lock, get the numbers right, and there’s that little click. I feel like I’m in that little click when nothing is out of sync and the way forward has opened up.
I am sitting in my garden’s sunshine on a camping chair with my jeans rolled up. My Australia flag flip flops are creating a sense of summer and I could be anywhere and anytime. Yet somehow I’m rooted here through the touch of air on my skin and the ground beneath my feet.
There’s enough noise to keep me from freaking out at the silence. Neighbours clattering in their kitchen, occasional cars going past at the front and somewhere there’s a saw. Some twig sounds from the allotments, a cough, a washing machine and some bees humming, and the incessant chatter of birds. A plane flying overhead which, for once, I don’t glance at wistfully wishing I was on board.
The sky is a flawless blue and the sun is shining but there’s a whisper of a breeze to keep things from stagnating. The lack of clouds creates a weighty stillness but it’s evened out by the dancing of plants, the blowing washing on the line, the flutter of a butterfly, and the busyness of the occasional ant – all doubled by their shadows and broken by the light that’s flickeringly refracted through my eyelashes.
Suddenly the spring garden seems to have come alive with yellow, blue, red and white, and all sorts and shapes of green. It’s a bit chaotic and overgrown but I don’t think that we’d have got it so pretty even if we’d tried. I love that we have tulips, my favourite flower, shooting up no thanks to us.
Breathing it all in, I am thankful that I am right here, right now.
And I am thankful that it is beautiful.