The swirl of the clouds, illuminated from the east as the sun rises below the horizon, the field of sheep and the neighbour’s great beast calmly munching the soft grass behind the grand tree, the leaves turning in the garden, and the fallen branch on the ground. Every component of this scene has been etched into our hearts, in one way or another, over the past thirty years. But that doesn’t mean that a new perspective is unnecessary; no, rather it’s even more necessary that we look, examine, ponder and reflect.
Timelessness is how it feels, as if we’re musing in a landscape that’s escaped from the encroachment of busy-busy. When we show folks around, as we do these days, clocking their delight at the panoramic views, the valley of the River East Allen extending far left and right, it’s with a lump in our throats. Much of this year’s blogging exercise has been an effort to capture the sense of our own rural idyll, to somehow save it for future examination.
As joys go, it’s hard to imagine better than mornings such as these, when so much feels possible, as we chase the sleep from our eyes and stretch and awaken into the new day.
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