I have made myself a promise, in this insane world, to give myself a little silence every day.
Here in France it is a beautiful autumn day, the sun is bright and warm, with just the occasional cloud blowing by.
So I took the time, from my what can be stressful days at the moment, and I had my tea and toast outside with the Welshies.
As I sat listening to the birds singing, and the trees sighing with resignation as the breeze took more of their leaves from them, I thought back to my first autumn here. I can remember how I would stand by my washing line and look around me in amazement that I owned the land where the huge oak trees loomed over me, and the crab apple dropped her apples loudly onto the goat shed roof. I remember walking up the chemin that was covered with a carpet of acorns and cob nuts crunching underfoot, and thinking this is mine.
But it was never mine, I never owned it, I borrowed it when I needed to heal, and it did it’s job. Now it’s time to let it go, and let someone else sit as the leaves blow by. Let someone else look down in wonder at the carpet of walnuts hiding amongst the leaves. Most years there are well over three thousand, we have given up trying to pick them all up, and we giggled the other day when we took the dogs for a walk down the lane and realised we were following a trail of walnut shells left by the squirrels. .
I will ask my neighbours if they want to collect some. If not the squirrels will be fed for the winter.
I will never tire of this view.
But one of my lessons has been it’s a view, that’s all. There will be more views.