GIETHOORN:
FLOATING MEADOWS
AT THE COMING OF SPRING...
In amongst the mossy peat, and the tiny crocus sprouts that shine like small white stars from their soft beds, there comes the noise of quacking...
A family of ducks is out walking, with ducklings 1... 2... 3... all in a row behind Mother dearest.
Oliver and I have found ourselves in a wonderland - where the houses bear thatched roofs and the roads are made of water. There is a peace here that washes over me... The silence, the stillness. The only sound deep in this village of canals is the faint rustle of the trees, and a whisper of punting boats.
I sit a while on a bench, laying down my weary travel-worn thoughts, to reflect what I see. Within me and without me, calm.
There are so many times, on the road, that I am reminded to do this: to set aside all thoughts of tomorrow, and come back into the place where I stand. We like to travel, yes, but I temper this constant movement with a deep sense of stillness. When I come to a place, I am arrived. I am here. I am now. This is where I will be.
I find that can make all the difference: BEing in a place.
