Today was the soft rhythm of a feeling of a day. Tea took on its own taste again and grass throbbed with its own growing. You could hear it as you listened, three-quarters of an inch from the ground.
Garden is very big, and flowers doing their best to fill it up – jostling for room and competition for the bees.
“I am the most beautiful.”
In the pond the orange fish swims resignedly to the other side. In his little deep he is a little less concerned with the attention of bees, or sunlight. A passing fish friend is enough.
The trees are getting cocky though. Strutting their leaves that are so green, and new and they’re getting tired in the afternoon as they lazily wave above all our heads. “You couldn’t get up this high if you tried and if you did you would have to come down eventually.” They arc criss-cross patterns of their branches green and dark brown against a pristine blue.
“So will you Mr Tree” you remind him, as he gives a delicate flinch.
Butterflies are crawling in little green lozenges, yet to grow wings and people gather just over the low wall at the end to say “hello”and point at the flowers. They bristle gleefully at this bit.
The fish says nothing.
The day calls to its self in these contented ways and there’s left for you to do.
Can you let go into it?