Iāll tell you how the sun rose, ā
A ribbon at a time.
The steeples swam in amethyst,
The news like squirrels ran.
The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
āThat must have been the sun!āEmily Dickinson
Thereās sometimes a deep silence at the heart of a daily walk: the silence of natural elements fallen and becoming. The silence in colours changing before oneās eyes. The silence of flight, and of the omnipresent mountain, the placid cow, or horse, or flock of sheep. The silence of the hawthorn hedge because the air is now still. The silence of memory and of tomorrow. And thereās often a silence just beneath the surface of my slight breathlessness: and itās the classroom where I keep on learning who I am: and sometimes I say softly āThat must have been the sun!ā
wind in my wheels š± 
āThe hills untied their bonnetsā¦ā I see this in your lovely photo, Simon! Such a beautiful time of year, isnāt it? š
LikeLiked by 1 person
Glorious, Lori. And uplifting. Just recently Iāve seen many repetitions, in poetry and elsewhere, of the phrase ālook upā – and Iāve been glad of the reminder. But, more widely, Iām on the lookout for one of those reminder bracelets that urge us to ālook everywhereā – where we come alive anew every day šš
LikeLike