Wednesday, 12 March 2014
I left the house early this morning, just as the sun was peeking over the tops of the western hills.
The sky was still golden as I made my way along the back roads beside the estuary, and the dew was so heavy on the grass that I thought at first it might be frost. Dew and sunlight made an earthbound aurora, every droplet catching light, as rainbow hues danced back and forth across the fields.
Four does grazed mid-field, far enough away from me to remain despite my presence. I could trace their course across the field in the spangled grass. They raised their heads from time to time to check that I was staying put, then returned to grazing, their ears turning and twitching with each new sound; at rest, yet always aware of their surroundings
Hundreds of robins are telling us that spring is here. They were everywhere this morning; red breasted, merry presences on each and every patch of grass. They stood, heads tilted to one side, bright eyes regarding the world around them as they listened, intent upon the smallest of sounds to alert them to the presence of the worms and bugs that make their breakfast.
In the bay, the water, warmer than the air above, rose into mist, wrapping boats and ships in gauzy veils before rising to wreath the hills around it. Not a ripple marred the surface. It was burnished gold by the morning sky.
In a farm field further down the road, the first lambs of the season leaped and played for the sheer joy of it, chasing one another -still clumsy leggѐd - through the wet grass while their mothers observed from a distance, content to watch them play while breakfasting in peace.
Maples edged the field, near the fence, and I saw them back lit: the fat golden buds at the ends of the branches glowing like embers.
The sun has long since risen higher in the sky and the golden hour of morning sunrise passed us by, but still I hold it in my mind - a keeper of images better than any camera will ever be. I can close my eyes to draw upon it when need be; a well of peaceful memory.