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.