I had to give in to my residual loner,
forgo the company of my playmates,
and swap a rehearsal room in the Belgrade for my beloved park,
with it's diamond frost,
cornflake crunchy underfoot leaves,
and friends the trees,
(some unashamedly naked),
reaching many branched arms up into the glorious winter sunshine.
It was cold alright,
with an icy wind
keeping even the dog walkers to a minimum.
In the walled garden it was,
as my mother would have said,
another country.
The sun reflected off the warmed red brick,
and played on the benches set out of the wind
in the lea of the walls.
What bliss to sit for some five minutes or more,
(well it wasn't that cosy),
and in the quiet listen to the trees murmur,
and the bird's song.
Typically, I felt a flicker of guilt.
Should I have skipped my workshop for this?
I didn't need to bat the thought away
as my spirit reached up with the trees
to give thanks for the beauty of the morning,
and the healing few moments of solitude.
Be Blessed
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