I’m not sure that I told you but… when all the world seems a hopeless jumble and people are sad and frightened I never thought I could say I am glad to be alive. But I am.
When I let all the noise around me drop and I delve into the presence of this moment, I cannot but be glad. Especially in spring when the birds are making a hullabaloo at 6.00am, the first rays of the sun are washing the horizon, the coolness of the air makes me pull my rug closer and feel grateful for the warmth of the dogs beside me. As Lilly, my creamy coloured cat with blue eyes sits on my lap, squeezed in between my body and the laptop, keeping me snug.
I’m not sure I told you I am grateful for this day with all its beauty and challenges ahead. In spite of the little things that press my buttons, the big surprises hiding around the corner, both good and bad. Endless Wisteria flowers opening and revealing deep purple racemes that fall like waterfalls towards the ground. Our Banksia rose with its myriad of yellow flowers, always the first to flower.
I think I forgot to tell you the pigs are about to have their babies. Mother (Maxi-Mum) and daughter (Minnie-Mum) are looking wonderful. Big and strong with their baby bellies round and plump, as they lounge in the piggie pond or lie in the shade of a cork oak tree waiting for the onslaught of tiny trotters in just a few days. Minnie-Mum walks up to me as I fill their water buckets. She stands in front of me before dropping to her knees, then lowering her great bulk she rolls onto her side for me to caress her tummy; to feel the babies lying inside her, soft and safe before their journey into the world.
In case I haven’t told you already, I feel so blessed that this enormous animal should trust me. That she wants me to soothe and hold her. That she desires this connection with me is a minor miracle in a world grown so used to hearing about war and horror in all its various forms, and if I haven’t told you already - it makes me glad to be alive.
