It was hot outside, cold indoors. When we were freed from the hall I opened my car thinking oven gloves might be required for driving. I was weary. I was lined up for a row of shifts- but the evenings are lighter now, and the beach was calling. I drove a wiggly route to Veryan (the road I chose was closed) and down to Carne Beach. Since I had checked the weather the wind had turned easterly, and the tide was in. There were waves smacking over a disappearing line of fine sand. Undeterred I wriggled my swimsuit on and went to play in the foam. Neither air nor sea was particularly cold. Blue and cloud patterned sky, blue and turquoise patterned sea, flowers blooming and swooshed by the wind, and the warm brown crags of rock: to be here was to be directly connected to the source of all existence. Afterwards I sat in my car, door open, eating a square of dark chocolate, watching the white flecks and trying to work out if the dark dot was a seal’s head or a cormorant or the shadow...
To have a day undriven by plot, how gentle that is on mind and body. I will get things done, yes, at an unforced pace - I will be moved like water by gravity, by tide; these natural magics will be my energy today. Stirred to waking by birdsong. Resting awhile listening to the hedgebirds, to the whisper of soft rain before rolling up the window blind to see tree tips swaying and a sky of such pale grey it seems invisible. I want coffee so I make some. Fresh, strong. Chilled fingers wrapping a warm mug. More song and chatter from the city of birdlife. Somewhere a tractor rumbles. I review a list of chores. All the way from my toes, tucked in wool socks, a smile rises. It goes up and up into the invisible sky, I don’t care that it’s raining. When the description is the narrative, it is enough, it is everything.