Thus far the weather this summer has failed to meet expectations, which is a pity. Normally my uniform for this stage of the year is scruffy shorts and a t-shirt. Not this year. Still, to quote a friend, such is life. Don’t gt me wrong, it hasn’t been bad, just not great. However, the other day we were blessed with utterly gorgeous weather: clear blue skies, a light breeze and temperatures in the low 80ºs (I think that translates to about 25ºC in “new money”). Graham and I had finished supper on the terrace and, when Graham decided that he was going to watch TV, I elected to stay out a while longer and enjoy the benison of the evening and fine weather.
It must have been about 8:30, as there were plenty of planes criss-crossing the skies above Les Terraces and cross-hatching the blue with their contrails, blurring the fronds of high cirrus that were drifting in from the west, presaging a change in the weather. It was so quiet that I could hear the planes well before their slender white bodies appeared over my head, tiny needles pulling thick white threads of vapour. Far below them, squadrons of swifts continued their 24/7 hunt for insects screeching, often only inches from my head. House martins chuckled along in the mix.
Down at la Plage des Bardolets on the north bank of the Dordogne, children were still playing and swimming in spite of the chill of the water. I recalled with a shudder how, many (many) moons ago, I too would have been oblivious to the cold and celebrating freedom from school uniform and shoes. Not now. Now, dipping my toes in the river when I go kayaking is more than enough! Two little girls picked their way along the water’s edge, apparently searching for tiddlers until they were retrieved by an adult, while frogs and toads croaked lustily from the shelter of the river weed and a pair of grey herons stood poised one-legged watching gimlet-eyed for their supper.
Too often, I find, we (I) seem to dash full-pelt through life and, in so doing, fail spectacularly to find the time to appreciate peace and quiet; to see the beauty in small things, to reflect and breathe deeply. Having the opportunity to stop and smell the roses (enjoy the colours of the geraniums, actually) on such a lovely evening was too good to pass up. I am so glad that I did. One tiny hour, 1/8760th of my year, was time very well spent. It was enormously regenerating and I am resolved to do more of it. I may never make it to an hour a day of such “mindfulness”. Today, the eve of my 21st anniversary of becoming a parent, I have decided to treat myself to 10 minutes of quiet repose a day and work upwards from there. Perhaps by the time I become a grandmother I may have made it to an hour a day. Note to only child: please don’t take this as a hint …. I am in no particular need to be pressured, and Happy Birthday – I love you.