A Walk into the Sunset

I spend a good eleven hours at work today; accordingly the first thing we did after I got home was to head out for a walk.  We walked the same circuit we always walk on a fine night after work once the clocks have gone forward: past the village green, down the hill past the farm to the next village, round by the church and back again onto the same path up the hill.  And it was magical.  It was about 7.30pm on an evening that could have been June, the air had that balmy feeling and that exquisite evening stillness.  The sky was streaked with mares' tales that were highlighted pink by the setting sun and the streetlights were starting to twinkle in the blue smudgy hills on the horizon.  Above us a new moon lay on her back with Venus riding on her coat-tails.

It was at once an absolute cacophony of sound and colour - the yellow, blue and pink of daffodils, hyacinths and tulips in the gardens and the acid green of the new leaves in the hedgerows, the endless liquid chirrups and twitters of the birds - and absolutely still.  The evening held its breath as we stood at the top of the hill by the kissing gate; as we walked past the field by the church a foal unfurled its delicate legs and stood up, so new, such a creation of Nature and the Spring.

Every year, the older I get the more miraculous the changing of the seasons becomes.  I savour every little change, and drink in the little miracles Nature presents us with every second of every day.  I want me and my loved ones to be around for many, many years to come, well and happy and feeling ourselves filling with joy and new life every Spring, drinking in the long days and beautiful balmy nights of the Summer, snuggling into Autumn with falling leaves and morning mists, retreating into our burrows in Winter, popping out to glory in sparkly blue mornings, berries in the hedgerows before returning to afternoons in front of the fire as the light fades outside.