An eye made quiet

This morning I was battling with washing up and lunchboxes and early starts and trying not to look at the chaos around me in the kitchen, when suddenly the dogs, almost as one, pricked up their ears, uttered a warning bark, and rushed outside, all in defensive mode. When Bramble, our aged and slightly rotund ball of black fluff,  joins in such jaunts, it is an indication that something important must be happening.

So I, too, rushed outside in a panic - we are coming to the time of year when hungry foxes are out on patrol until nine in the morning, and our electric fence for the hens is in a sad state: the rabbits have chewed so many holes, that it is decidedly not hen-proof at all. The fox might not get in one of those holes, but the hens will save him that trouble: the moment they are let out in the morning they ramble off to scratch about in the hedgerow, which is riddled with burrows so large that any one of them might be a den for a wily fox.

But as I approached the back gate, all of a fluster, I could see the little dears all agog and running to meet me. And the pigs ambled over, jaws working, but yet ever hopeful of another meal.

Panic over. And then I stopped and thought, why fret about the disorder indoors, about clocks, and work, and the day to come?

Just pause, and look at the fields and the trees, the sun and the lengthening shadows. Just breathe in the fresh air, and observe the world of green and growing all around me.

And as I looked about, I noticed that these days of Indian summer sun had ripened some raspberries to rosy redness - perfect to pick, and to eat for breakfast.

And I also saw that there will be still more to come, if I just remember to stop and look.

And there on the table were apples, green and inviting, sunshine trapped and stored inside, all for me to take out in the world beyond the gate.

Lucky am I to have such delights to retreat to, away from the fret and the fever of the world.