Cold January morning

Leaving the house, I start to stamp my way up the hill. The cacophony of my thoughts begins to still as I become aware of the sounds around me... the shrubs are alive with the local garden birds, making the best of the daylight hours  - robins, sparrows, finches, tits... squabbling and chirruping. The stream is gurgling in the valley and making my way up the road, I become aware of the taller trees and the bigger birds among the susserance of the leaves and twigs - 'corvids' I'm learning to call them; if I name them - crows, rooks, ravens - someone will put me right...

I'm aware of my breathing, the rhythm of my warming joints and muscles, my place in the universe . We stop to greet the donkeys and goats in the field. As I reach the top of the hill, the inblowing wind catches me and a kite is overhead. Inland today the mountains are hidden, but turning the corner I can see down the bay and across the valley