There is an opportunity for extra sleep this morning, even if the ability is lacking.
Sit: at the box room window, watching coffee steam, watching starlings fly through mist, watching fields pastel-green under frost.
A pigeon waddles; that one would suit a bonnet; a crow struts; a top hat candidate.
In a box, left open on the bedroom windowsill, a pair of purple shoes wait for their inaugural run, wait for the ground to melt.
In the eaves house sparrows fuss with nest materials.
From hedges other birds sing: all but the pheasants who hold their shrieks, their wingwhurs, their comically paced walking, for now.
Perhaps they are watching the horizon appear: a series of block shapes undraped as the mist wanders elsewhere.
The sky could be porcelain, this morning.
Bright new shoes glow in the grass, looking good, running clumsy.
Sit: at the box room window, watching coffee steam, watching starlings fly through mist, watching fields pastel-green under frost.
A pigeon waddles; that one would suit a bonnet; a crow struts; a top hat candidate.
In a box, left open on the bedroom windowsill, a pair of purple shoes wait for their inaugural run, wait for the ground to melt.
In the eaves house sparrows fuss with nest materials.
From hedges other birds sing: all but the pheasants who hold their shrieks, their wingwhurs, their comically paced walking, for now.
Perhaps they are watching the horizon appear: a series of block shapes undraped as the mist wanders elsewhere.
The sky could be porcelain, this morning.
Bright new shoes glow in the grass, looking good, running clumsy.
It is more learning how to run than actual running.
Every muddy puddle, every mud patch, the part-frozen wetlands of the lower fields that spray up mud-frappé, the muddied culvert stream, a shallow stretch of river, every fallen tree on the wood path: all are for learning.
Dog goes by, a pelt and a blur.
Dog goes by, a pelt and a blur.
She brings two roe deer out to race across the low field and pheasants rocket up like rescue flares. We knew they would.
~ Lately there is much writing of running. This, dear readers, is because I am throwing myself out of my comfort zone (on March 21st) into a 15k obstacle littered mud run. Training for it is a push through reluctance, doing it should be scary-hilarious. I have the advantage of a team, some scared like me, some scarily competent. We will help each other: that’s the bit I’m confident about. Everything else is a mystery.
It is a perfect counteraction to being a writer, where effort can feel isolated, ignored, unrewarded; because it takes so much to get noticed and more again to gain a living from it. All vocations have a downside, I’m not complaining, merely giving in to venting. Normal stoicism will return immediately. I will add that the cheers received from all Dear Readers do make a difference: you also are My Team.
I cannot say I lack luck lest I be a liar :-)
It is a perfect counteraction to being a writer, where effort can feel isolated, ignored, unrewarded; because it takes so much to get noticed and more again to gain a living from it. All vocations have a downside, I’m not complaining, merely giving in to venting. Normal stoicism will return immediately. I will add that the cheers received from all Dear Readers do make a difference: you also are My Team.
I cannot say I lack luck lest I be a liar :-)
Thank You xx
Comments
I love purple.