I was going to write about going slow,
how to breathe the air and watch the clouds,
I was going to waffle on about feeling the grass beneath your bare feet,
the sand between toes,
I was going to reminisce on the thrill of delight on hearing that first cuckoo of the year,
seeing that first snowdrop,
smelling the first of the dog roses as they open in the hedgerow.
I had planned to write how my heart soars at the sight of a far horizon,
how it skips a beat at the sound of a crashing wave,
how it thumps in time with the earth's own beat.
I wanted to mention how rain can be a blessing
and a curse,
how we need it,
then when it does rain
I felt the need to share the feeling of that early morning summer's sun
on my face before I don my hat,
or the gentle sound of a warm breeze
as it flips the grass heads back and forth on a hillside walk.
I even wanted to share the icy tang of feet in a river
or in the sea.
That crush and woosh of the salty water
over the beach pebbles
as the tide drags back the waves.
I wanted to say how the complex song of a skylark,
when I lie in moorland grasses,
can bring me to tears.
As can the deep sound of the thunder
as it rolls across the distant hills.
I had planned all these eloquent words
these heartfelt and deeply loved
moments of nature,
then I realised I'd run out of time,
run out of steam
I'd said it all anyway.
#30dayswild - what sets your heart aflame?