It’s a while since I posted here. I’ve actually been blogging and posting almost incessantly these last three weeks, but just not here. (I went on a trip to the Muddle East with a small mixed group of local Leeds Muslims, Jews, and Christians and I’m still processing my reflections. At some point they will work through here. Just not yet)

But today is a special day. The day I have begun in the way I think I like to begin every day but never do. The day represented by the Yellow Calendar (ideal working week template calendar) which involves leaping out of bed at dawn, scampering with the dog through the park in sunshine, catching up with the latest issue of Art Monthly and feeling as though I’ve been up for hours when I hear the 8am pips go.

Oh, and there was the 15 minute weeding session on the balcony after the run before the shower.

My reward was to notice the bench in full sunshine just outside the kitchen door, conveniently at the precise moment I’d made a cup of tea.

I’m sitting and listening to birdsong and watching the early morning violet shadows creep across the lawn. I used to be unable to sit still and “do nothing”. But a major joy of middle age (and there are many) is the recognition and appreciation of sitting “doing nothing” except listen to this extraordinary concert of nature.


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