I decided to take a break from my writer’s nest – just a brief ten minutes walk to revitalise mind, body and soul.
Way always leads to way and those ten minutes turned into three hours. There was no ‘missing time’; I enjoyed every moment – wandering, observing, listening, feeling, wondering… I am definitely a wanderer in search of wonder and the wonderful, and it all informs my writing.
From the cottage, I walked beyond the croft and took the path to the boundary line looking out for kingfishers darting over the sluice.
I thought I saw one and zoomed in with my camera only to discover a piece of blue material that looked remarkably like a water sprite.
I danced about and recited Keats to an audience of ash and hawthorn, and I then untangled my way into Seven Acre Wood.
A squirrel fell out of a rowan tree. I fell out of my head and into my heart. The woodland canopy was thinning but the fruits were ripening.
I was aware that something was watching me. There were signs of deer. Somewhere, a fox. Perhaps the big wild cat, which had been spotted in this area, prowls the ivy-coated woodland floor. But whatever was watching me wasn’t of flesh and blood.
The trees guided me back, delivering me safely to the path, as a buzzard circled above.
Replenished, I returned to the cottage surrounded in nature’s aura.
I have wandered, I have wondered, and now I’m writing.