Writing creates my space
I come here to write. I come here to park up. I come here to rest. It creates a space for me. A space to do what? A space to stop, to hear myself breathe. A space where nothing else is happening except what is. What is? The moment, my fingers moving on the keyboard, the sound of the tap, tap tap. The sound of the spoon against the china as I reach to put more granola in my mouth. The sound of my teeth munching in unison with every cow in the land. The taste of the granola mixed with soya milk.
It is as a little chapel, my space. I can feel the cool fresh morning air upon my skin seeping in from the open window from which when I lift my head I lookout. The sound of traffic just beyond the trees that insulate me from the roads that circle me. It is not busy just constant, one car, one lorry, one car, one lorry. The light of the day is encouraging me to come out and dance with it.
Sitting in this space long enough I begin to hear some birds. If I sit even longer I will hear the stirrings of my heart.
Best day,
g
