smitten

in the sanctuary this morning a swallow swoops low

My stone seat is cool and vacant, unsurprising really, it’s well off the beaten track. The sky couldn’t be bluer. Guy walking between vines in fluorescent lime jacket disappears, swamped from view. The vines are shoulder height now. Still a youthful green.

The cool air of sunrise is still here. It’s a soothing tonic, a meditation on the wing. I’m listening only to birdsong. One layer of harmony ripples over another. Each with their own musical score and no two seconds are the same. 

A swallow swoops low over a wild meadow looking for hovering insects. It lowers and skims its runway that stretches between the tops of the tallest dry flowers. It flies with pride in sharp turns as if tracing a treble clef that has fallen on its side. They are smitten with the delights of spring. Stunning bird tricks some of us humans have longed to master for ever.

I enjoy my neutrality. All of this is here, whether I am here or not. It continues every second of every day. None of them need me. I am a silent observer owning, claiming, controlling nothing. I am a guest of the breeze, an audience for the birds, loving the shrill silence of nature with its oblivious business-as-usual.

The sun creeps higher behind my back. It catches my right eye. It warms my arm. My hair is lit auburn. My new shadow throws me sitting tall to the east, to the lichen and a butterfly in a flutter. It is blissfully unaware that it flies in a weave. That it zigzags in a crossover stitch that protects the fraying edge of my shadow. We are whole and invisible, my shadow and me. 

Sat long enough for an ant to climb up to my knee and bites. It’s cheeky, minuscule mouth undaunted by our difference in size. An elusive golden oriole makes its peculiar sound, like a wolf whistle, gurgle deep in an aquarium. A piercing solo voice, so enormous for its lungs. A family of long tailed tits are out for breakfast, light and nimble little things with their chopstick tales crisscrossing branches like crochets.

My tummy rumbles and I think it is time to go for my own breakfast, cut my losses before the sun starts to burn. The sun slinks its way through the treetops to me, making a shorter sharper shadow, more alert, more focused. 

I leave recharged, ready to confront a new day. The birds and the bees might not need me but I have learned that I need them. They give me so much I doubt if I give them anything back in return. I would like a two-way deal. So, I shall write about their beauty and their power, in their honour.

Lots of love.

beauty of nature by pipp warner @naturetorque