The garden always calls to me as the sun rises – no matter what season of the year. There is a particular sort of magic to be found in the very air as the old ways and Mother magic crackles and fizzes before the rest of the world wakes.
There is a wildness, a connection, as I step barefoot onto the grass – left slightly longer, as I prefer it, since to me there is beauty to be seen in something as small as a blade of grass, equal to that of any majestic forest, wild moor or rocky seashore.
Instantly as my bare feet touch the dew wet grass I feel it, I feel the connection, plugging into the universal grid of Life and Love. Everything is crystalline clear and touched with enchantment, everything growing as Mother Earth calls to her children to wake.
The tulips are past their best, now, but still have the mesmeric effect of a Monet painting, splashes of colour, their edges bleeding into one another. A delicate fragrance is lifted on the air, late daffodils, which surprised me with their scent.
The sky is blue and very, very still. A slap of a fishtail reaches my ears from the pond which also startles the frogs into wakeful croaking, subtly different in tone to the toads. There is a busyness, a life to the pond, filled with tadpoles and baby fish, thriving in the rich water.
The cats have woken up and followed me out, Charlie picking her way cautiously across the wet grass to jump and roll on the bench. The others, less fastidious, run to me and flop at my feet, Ting waving her legs in the air and “Wah”-ing. A jackdaw cackles overhead and the cats as one crouch, ears flattened to their heads as they follow its flight path across our garden.
The spell is broken, as faintly, traffic noise begins as the rest of the world stirs. I take a step back and re-enter my one-ness, temporarily separated from the Universal, but aware always. And Love. Always.