morning light

Early mornings are another feature of life at the moment, waking up and waiting for the light to fill the room, watching the changing patterns on the walls, the clear sky days revealing the hidden beauty. These early starts in fact a gift.

the persistence of goodness

Just yesterday it seemed that spring had arrived in London, so I went down to the 'urban Battersea beach' to enjoy a little coffee, sun, birds and a Saturday afternoon moment. I was feeling overwhelmed by all that had been happening around our world in the last week or so. The devastation and destruction in Japan. The immense loss and grief.

For some reason I then got thinking about how nature in these places carries on with it's being, despite the chaos that surrounds it. I am not sure why, but I was thinking about how plants and flowers and trees carry on being, carry on finding a way to grow, oblivious maybe to the grief screaming out around them. They will still find a path to push on through, against all odds, and flower, produce leaves, fruit, whatever they are made to do. Beautiful things will persist in being beautiful.

Then, as if to agree with my ponderings, this little daisy caught my eye amongst the pebbles. I have no idea how it came to be here. It's a beach full of pebbles, wood, glass, and a high tide. How on earth did this little daisy come to be here, and then to survive? I have no idea, but I enjoyed the moment, imagining its persistence at pushing through, at asserting life and being beautiful in the hardest of places. 

good morning miss bird

There is a little lady in our house who would have loved to have stood on the bridge and watched the birds with you. It has become something of a daily ritual to stand at the window and greet them and watch their morning flight. Their movement, their unexpected arrival and departure, their coming and their going, a source of wonderment. We watch without many words, content with the quiet. She is teaching me much about stopping and looking up.

content with silence

urban evening beauty

We were nearing the end of our long journey back from the most beautiful Pembrokeshire coast. It was a Sunday night, when the vehicles and the people begin to meander back into the city, with Monday morning and the week ahead on their minds. We were almost there; crossing the last bridge between Wales and home. And there they were; the huge flock of playful birds over Wandsworth Bridge. We stopped in our tracks. In fact, we pulled right over, on the middle of the bridge, in the evening traffic, hazard lights on, while we watched in amazement at the beauty of the dancing birds. And they were dancing, so playfully. It was a display of such intricate choreography in the evening sky. 

They seemed so full of joy and play and a slight mischief, as they swooned high and low, fast and slow, almost laughing. Like the seriousness and responsibilty of the Monday morning was almost upon them and this was their last moment of pure abandonment. We were captivated. Completely. Then I watched, as people walked past, focussed on what lay ahead, forgetting to look sideways, or up to the sky, and so completely oblivious to the secret spectacular show happening all around them. They just didn't see it. I was amazed at the 'not noticing'. How could this show not stop you in your tracks and demand a moment of undivided attention, and awe to The Creator?

 But that seemed to make the moment more special, like we were somehow looking in on something secret; something sacred.