This morning I walked for an hour and a half – the air was cool and fresh, and the sun shone beautifully through the shifting fog, right before my eyes. So beautiful.
The local area never fails to disappoint, with quiet residential streets leading to peaceful parks and bushland. I love it! It sets me up for a positive day and also inspires my writing. Lovely to get a walk in before the day begins, since they go so fast.
Today, as I walked along footpaths strewn with liquid amber leaves and grass that was wet with morning dew, I found that the rhythmic motion of my strides was so motivating – just to hear the crunching sound on each step.
The following is a simple poem that was the result of my walk this morning. Nothing too deep here, but just my experience. See what you think…
I open my eyes when a new day dawns,
Then the blinds are opened, not masking my yawns.
As I face the east and offer a good morning,
To a new day, a bright start, adorning.
The crisp morning air kisses my face,
I cannot help but feel enamoured in the days embrace.
The crunch of the leaves ‘neath my feet,
Brings the beauty of nature, whole and complete.
As I stride through the park before everyone stirs,
A warm bed, a sleep-in would be what some prefer.
The walk home familiar, the path still wet,
As I pass my favourite house, Somerset.
Happy that I have started on a positive note this morning,
I set my sails to north, all systems go and transforming.
Have a wonderful day!
#positivity #inspiring #inspiration #wintermornings #newdaydawning #love #walking #books #author #publishing #poetryinmotion #poetry #novel #amwriting #gillianducaurroy
I rarely have a sick day. Yes, I know, I'm lucky I don't get sick often, that's for sure. I am grateful for my good health, but today, I had the unfortunate call from my body reminding me that it was not going to cope well, sitting in an air conditioned office and feeling achy, cold and miserable.
It (my body) refused to budge at 6am. Blatantly disregarding any thoughts and good intentions of getting out of bed, having breakfast, making lunches, pleading with children to get up, get dressed, eat breakfast, brush teeth, gel hair, pack school bag and not torment the cat.
It definitely was not going to let me go through all of that.
Instead, it (my body) stayed in bed until 7:39am when my bladder was going to explode and only then it allowed me to get out of bed.
So, in my pink dressing gown and fluffy slippers, I trudged to the bathroom, noticing that no-one was awake yet. The cat had escaped the west wing and proceeded to jump in-between my feet, but not a sound from anyone else.
Do I usually make enough noise at that time that the household stirs? Are they on a time clock that is synced to my time clock? It is usually at 6am when I have the peace and quiet of the house just for myself. A rare event, but one that is much sought after.
Today I had that event at 7:39am. Something was not right.
My body went from not responding to full on battle mode.
I walked from bedroom to bedroom, opening doors, curtains, making loud noises and just as I was about to take the covers down from their warm and cosy bodies, they started to stir.
Well well well. We had movement at the station and only half an hour to get up, get dressed, have breakfast, brush teeth, gel hair, pack school bags and NOT annoy the cat. I still had to drive them to school though.
It's strange you know. The less time seemed to work well. No pleading was necessary. Just the facial expressions, the body language, the constant looking up at the clock and announcing how many more minutes to leave the house seemed to do the trick.
All was sorted. Quiet and peacefulness was restored, and I resigned to my comfy bed, with paracetamol to recover and a peppermint tea.
How do your mornings work? Are they smooth sailing? A mad panic?
Have you ever heard of a birdle?
Mornings at my place happen so fast that after the school rush is done and dusted I’m left thinking to myself, ‘What happened just then!’
I’ve found that walking to school is like pushing a magic button, where all the rush, panic, yelling, hurrying and stress is left behind as soon as we step out the front door. From that moment on, the fresh air and conversations take hold, which, in my opinion, is the best quality time I spend with my two boys.
The conversations we have for the next 15 minutes are the best and I’m always in my element, ears tuned in and watching their expressions as they discuss things in such a matter-of-fact way.
For instance, the other day as we reached the end of our street, there was a dead possum on the footpath. I saw this before the boys did and wondered to myself if I should warn them, or leave it for them to discover. I decided on the latter.
When they approached it, it was a case of, ‘Mum, what is it? Is it dead? I think I saw it move! His eyes are looking at me! How did it die?’ They circled it a few times as I looked on, amused by all the questions and their brains ticking over at this poor creature.
As I coaxed them to keep walking, the dead possum monopolised the conversation, until something else took their attention. The ‘spooky house’ had movement today. Not a day goes by that they don’t stop and peer through the gap in the fence at…nothing. I don’t understand, but figure there is something that attracts them (or should I say intrigues them). On this day, they stood open mouthed as someone walked out of the back door. I took a quick look and given their expressions, I rushed them along. To be perfectly honest I was a bit freaked out myself, given the vacant look of the house and the 1970’s outfit that the man had on.
Getting a move on now and we had 7 minutes to get to school. I took hold of my 6 year old’s hand to power up the hill and lo and behold, a dead bird lay right there in the gutter. Well, that was it - they stopped, examined it and saw a little blood. We didn’t have time for this. I said, ‘Poor bird. It must have flown into a car window perhaps’. The questions started again, but as I continued walking, they caught up, continuing the questions. ‘What will happen to the bird now? Who will take it away?’
In my haste to hurry and also puffing from the slight hill, I replied, ‘Bird’ll just lay there. It isn’t in pain anymore.’
My 6 year old says something to the effect of, ‘Will the birdle go to heaven?’
I absolutely lost it. I should have answered this question, I really know that I should have, but I couldn’t stop laughing at his usage of the word ‘birdle’. In my hysterics, I tried to explain that I shortened ‘The bird will…’ to ‘Bird’ll’, but they couldn’t understand me and were utterly confused as to why their mum was laughing so much, so they quietly walked beside me, glancing my way every few steps until we reached school.
So, in essence, our walks to school are gold. The conversations we have are ones to cherish. And yes, the word ‘birdle’ is now a word in our household.