It is crisp and breezy. The trees around the worn out basketball court are rustling (actually, I want to use my favourite word that I learned from Terry Pratchett here – susurrating). The sky is mostly grey but is occasionally punctuated by diffused sunshine that makes it through the thinner parts of the cloud cover. When the sun hides again and the wind picks up there is the promise of rain in the scent and the court starts to glow gently with that eerie lilac light that presages a spring shower. Some drops fell while we were on our way over to the park but the rain itself has held off so far.
Sometimes I hear a dog barking as the animals wander by with their owners. In between the birds twitter and natter away in the branches. There is one particular magpie that is flitting around a lot but Hawkeye is still too young to be able to locate the bird at its current distance if I tried to point it out. We have more luck waving to the dogs. He picks up a single tiny petal from the concrete so I walk him over to the edge of the court and pull down a low hanging branch so he can see where the petals come from. He can be gentle when reminded.
When a dog scares him we walk away and instead look at the other spots of colour off the court – a small patch of bluebells (though I have to remind him again to be less enthusiastic about his appreciation!) A small daisy.
Eventually we are back to the basketball kicking the little ball around. Sometimes I just watch him running around out of the corner of my eye while I concentrate on the breeze on my face and the ever-present susurration in my ears harmonising with his aimless stream of consciousness chatter.
These moments are rare in my life right now. They almost nonexistent in the presence of the wee beastie. The closest I get is when I’m lying with him in bed, waiting for him to fall asleep for his nap and he presses his forehead against mine, blearily trying to keep his eyes open as they rove around the semi-dark room before they finally slide closed and his breathing evens out. Those moments are also full of peace, but it’s the kind of peace that is born from within the two of us sharing the quiet together. This was the kind of external peace where you can feel alone despite being in the presence of boundless energy and low but ceaseless noise of nature around you. Where the breeze washes away the weariness and takes away your worldly consciousness if you are willing to surrender it briefly, with your face turned up to the sky, listening to spring creeping in around you.
The Feathered Rose 