As some of my regular readers will know, I live in the coastal reaches of the South East. It’s a sleepy place with a pier and a shingle beach. We have big sky, loads of lovely countryside and the most amazing sunrises because we face East into the open heart of the sun. In the Spring, we have hedgerows and bluebells and I can go foraging for edible sea kale, wild rocket and fennel along the shingle path that leads towards the bay near my house. I am lucky.
I wake up each morning to the mournful cry of the seagulls as they coast inland under onshore winds and the lure of landed fishing boats. Later, I hear the chirp of sparrows, the melodic song of dainty wild doves, and the smug moan of fat suburban wood pigeons when the human inhabitants of their domain come to life and begin their workaday week. In the evening, blackbirds punctuate the dusk as they stake their claim on the trees, gutters and hedges of the houses in my street. I am lucky.
Birdsong and bluebells serve as a reminder that the sun always rises. Believe that it will, be lucky!