Waking from a nights sleep, feeling as though I haven’t slept in weeks, I reach for the toothpaste to wash my hands while my brain desperately attempts to make sense of what should be banal morning rituals.
Such desperate attempts at feeling my way around my surroundings can push on into afternoons and evenings as the morning fog lingers between the cells of my brain, impeding their ability to work as they should.
In the beginning I used to try and makes sense of such days but now, having given up on such silliness, I accept the brain deadened days and this morning as I stood at my kitchen sink trying to figure out what steps I needed to take in order to prepare my dinner for later this evening, a speckled starling caught my eye.
Its beak dipping in and out of the green tufts of my lawn as worms were sought out for a clutch of chicks in a nearby nest and above this stage was a second, as a swath of house martins dived and swooped in the morning dew filled air.
Beyond them, the twinklings of rain drizzled silver birch leaves freckled in the early morning sun as finches zipped from dandelion to dandelion, climbing up their stalks as they pulled seed after seed from feathered heads.
Watching this vibrant display of life – as if some private ticket holder to a special matinee – I found myself soothed by nature’s canvas.