Who will buy this wonderful morning?
I will. Actually, it’s free, no cash required, but not all of us will see it. It isn’t sunny, although there is just enough blue up above to make a pair of sailor’s underpants. However, my point is not about the state of the weather. It’s about the privilege of waking up at all.
I wake, as usual, at 05.30 which, to my delight, now manifests the hour at 06.30, a much more reasonable time to awaken. Thoughts arrive alongside me as I rise into the day, thoughts of how lovely it was to be invited for a roast chicken dinner with family last night; how cute Maz looks, parked prettily in the driveway; how the first bird is waiting for me to throw out his breakfast and how the faithful tide swells the sealoch. Green is coming and it becomes greener every day. The redwings chatter in the larch branches and the sparrows, huggled down inside a bush, sound like women at a market, all talking at once.
The little dog tumbles down the stairs and greets me as if I had been away for months. This, I decide, is how to welcome in a morning. If I had a tail, I tell her, I would be wagging it too. I make coffee and bask in the smell of freshly ground. The morning light catches hold of my Mother and Child statue and she glows, her face calm and loving as she looks down at the baby in her arms. I will buy myself some flowers today, flowers grown on the island, and arrange them in a pretty vase for my own pleasure. I will work more on my current tapestry which, if I’m honest, looks like it has no idea where it’s going. No matter, for it will show me how it wants to look, eventually. All I need to do is listen to that voice inside when no colour or shape is clear to me. Red, now, the voice says. Red? No, surely not. Yes. Red. It matters not that I disagree, preferring more of this green or perhaps some blue, as long as I don’t override the voice with my own. My own has let me down often enough before.
The trees are moving now as the wind picks up. Finches balance on the wobbly overhead wires whilst siskins swing like crazy on the nyjer seed feeder. An early plumber drives past on his way to somewhere up the track and a neighbour strides by attached to a trotting dog. The woodburner crackles and spits as it fires into a warmth that will make no matter of any outside weather. It is enough – enough to have woken to another morning, to be able to see, to touch, to smell, to hear the earth, or this side of it anyway, stretch and yawn into life; to be fortunate enough to choose what I will do this day; to be free and upright, to have enough to eat, to be warm, to be loved.
And all I have to be is thankful for every single thing in my life, even the things I might not choose to share my life with. There is a purpose and a time for everything even if I cannot see where any of it is going. Just knowing this, as a truth, sets me free. I may not have the blueprint but I do have this day, this morning, this awakening, this chance to wag my tail.