Up early, just before six, sitting out on the terrace - we've agreed on 'terrace' rather than 'patio' - to watch a sunrise made slower by a narrow band of cloud low on the horizon. The ducks chattering and one or other of the cockerels, muted, not out yet, crowing. But the noise is the bees in the lavender. A committee of bumblebees going from flower to flower, visiting each briefly, making the stems wave, regardless of whether this flower has been visited already. I wonder if they are conscious of flying.
Pollination always sounds haphazard, chancy, but this is reliable. You can trust these guys. And the buzz they make. The sunlight is just highlights at first, weakened by the cloud and the sun's decision to rise behind the tree, but then it becomes substance; becomes part of the trees, the grass, the lavender, the air. There is something about the sunlight's method of arriving that is difficult to capture in words: it doesn't just get brighter; it brings a presence of its own.
Other details: the sky clear blue except for one long mackerel strip of white cloud overhead; that bird passing over, looked like a crow, but sounded like - not sure. One single loud bird. Today will be a full day: first, the birds to be fed, the dog to be walked; the emails to be sent, interviews booked; the loaded van of furniture to be driven to storage in Penryn, and unloaded; the supermarket, the grain, the new safety glasses; the red diesel to be bought for the mower. And this evening, if time allows, finish the second part, 500 words to go, of Thursday's Child. I'm booked to read again on Thursday evening.
Pollination always sounds haphazard, chancy, but this is reliable. You can trust these guys. And the buzz they make. The sunlight is just highlights at first, weakened by the cloud and the sun's decision to rise behind the tree, but then it becomes substance; becomes part of the trees, the grass, the lavender, the air. There is something about the sunlight's method of arriving that is difficult to capture in words: it doesn't just get brighter; it brings a presence of its own.
Other details: the sky clear blue except for one long mackerel strip of white cloud overhead; that bird passing over, looked like a crow, but sounded like - not sure. One single loud bird. Today will be a full day: first, the birds to be fed, the dog to be walked; the emails to be sent, interviews booked; the loaded van of furniture to be driven to storage in Penryn, and unloaded; the supermarket, the grain, the new safety glasses; the red diesel to be bought for the mower. And this evening, if time allows, finish the second part, 500 words to go, of Thursday's Child. I'm booked to read again on Thursday evening.