Some mindful moments of a winter day lit up by glorious sunshine. As the sun sets, a stillness rests over our village. We end our day with Wordsworth for a cottage fireside evening.
Continue reading “Winter’s Evening Stillness”
Sing on sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough,
Sing on sweet bird, listen to thy strain,
And aged winter, mid his early reign,
At thy blythe carol, clears his furrowed brow.’
Robert Burns
The other day (Feb 1st ) I was sitting indoors when I heard a sound for which I am always waiting at this time of year. Opening the window, there it was, loud and clear, crisp and melodious—unmistakably the first Song Thrush—right on cue, singing its heart out claiming a territory for itself. It’s my favourite songbird, especially because it is the first bird to sing. It gives us so much pleasure by its beautiful solo performance – a herald of the dawn chorus to come, causing ‘aged winter to clear his furrowed brow’.
A Listening Heart 