I’ve blogged before about my morning routine, and how special and important this , all too brief, private time is to me. .. in fact, I was going to write about something else today, but it can wait, this morning was just gorgeous.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not totally antisocial, but it is fair to say that I do naturally tend towards the solitary. I enjoy good company, a good laugh, and a good gossip, as much as the next person. I like to belong, and be part of the community. However, I am quite misphonic, hate loud shouty voices, find crowds disorientating and claustrophobic, and I’m very comfortable in my own company. . Part of this is of course a nature thing, I am a solitary creature, always have been always Wilby. However, I am willing to bet that, in part at least, it is a reaction to having to rely on other people so much. I think that, to a greater or lesser degree, depending on the individual circumstance, everybody who lives with some form of disability, has at some point, got to hand over their freedom, safety, privacy, and dignity, to somebody else. If we want to be fully functioning members of society we don’t have much choice. Which is why mornings like this morning are so special.
As I stepped out of the back door I was struck by how still everything was. It was about 6.30, so still dark, and, unusually, there wasn’t a breath of wind. Neither was it raining. The whole world was very still, and oh so silent. This is what is meant by tranquillity. This is the kind of inherent natural calmness that enables the inner peace usually sought through meditation. I could very easily be the only living Being on the planet. Lovely. The effect was spoiled somewhat a few minutes later, when our next door neighbours central heating boiler fired up. , but this didn’t
Last very long as it was so mild, and all was soon quiet again. Across the garden, down the drive, across the yard, on with the water, back across the yard, to the paddock, off with the electric, fill the troughs. All the time with me being the only source of noise. No light, because it makes little difference to me whether they’re on or off.
, just Mother Nature and I taking a moment to breathe. Then I heard it. Purposeful hoof beats marching up the field. The sort of walk that, if you could achieve it on a long rein between K and M, would gain 10’s every time. . A slight wheeze and a friendly wicker. Florence is on her way. Then a slower walk, and some clicking joints, Breeze, who quite frankly, isn’t a morning person, has woken up, and is on a course to intercept Flo, and get to me first. Both horses are walking in their normal rhythm, both keen to interact with me, ears pricked, full of cheek. Nothing to worry about here just me and 2 content cobs in the whole wide world.
As I drag myself away from the horses the rest of the world begins to wake up. Walking across the yard I here a Robin’s alarm call somewhere in the adjoining field. While I’m turning off the water a Thrush starts singing in the neighbour’s garden, and a Blackbird joins in from somewhere near the lake.
. As I walk back to the gate a Cockerel crows on the other side of the valley and a cow moos once. Reaching the gate the Dawn Chorus is full on, and as I linger there I hear one of the horses enjoying a really good roll.
Sadly, as I walk back across the garden, the spell is broken when a car drives down into the village. . I am back in the real world, and have a real World things to get on with.