Posts Tagged ‘Sunday’

I’m home for the weekend. “Home” being back at my mum’s, where I grew up. At mum’s place the morning noises start quite early, even on a Sunday. The running of the bath, the sighs and coughs as people stir, the dog on his excited clatter as he heads off on his morning walk across the field. Even the birds seem to want to get started on the day bright and early here.

I turn into even more of a night owl when I’m home. Usually relishing the fact that it’s a weekend, I’m on my own and so I’m allowed to lie in as much as I want. And there seems to be unlimited time to explore things here – new books to read, space to watch a film, do some random yoga in the living room… Or just to stay up late for no reason. It should be easy for me to miss the morning.

This morning it is December 1st, so the first noise to awake me was the call of “Rabbits!” the customary luck cry for the first days of the new month. I went to the bathroom and was met with a kaleidoscope of sunlight beaming through the stippled window. And a song popped into my head…. “That’s why I’m easy…. easy Like a Sunday Morning….”.

I knew it will be a beautiful day.

Desperate for more, I then hopped around the house seeking out new views of the beautiful Sunday morning. Birds criss-crossing the pale blue skies, frost dusting the flower beds in the front garden. I wanted to get out into that world.

I don’t have a garden in Oxford, not one of my own (it’s a plan for 2014…) so it’s difficult to pop out and have a morning contemplation. But here I just put as many clothes on as I could, wriggled into my trusty duffle coat, pulled my bobble hat over my ears and headed up the garden.

So now I sit, on the faded wooden porch of our summerhouse, overlooking a wonderful wrangle tangle winter garden of slightly overgrown grass and fallen leaves. I’m next to our fishpond, which has been here for as long as I know. It’s concrete walls are cushioned with moss and the surface on the water speckled with green. I can see two pillar box fish nibbling on the surface.

And it’s beautiful. It’s calm. I can hear the busy chatter of the many birds who live in the trees. Even the frenzied beat of wings as a bird launches from our bird feeder. The dog is up here with me, curious and keeping me company. Rusting and snuffling in the bushes.

Everyone and then I hear a snarl of an engine, a motorbike out on an early country spin. Or the whoosh of a car coming down the road.

A distant train, carving across the patchwork countryside.

And the beams of sunshine dance across the glistening grass,as the frost starts to melt, highlighting patches of leaves, bark, pond life, and right up onto the side of my face, warming me from the outside.

I can go round the world and experience moments like this. Those stolen minutes as the world is waking up. Usually on beautiful beaches, or nestling at the foot of wild and imposing mountain ranges, but here I can experience exactly the same feeling. At the bottom of the garden in my family home. Easy.



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