‘It’s still today.’ It is, in both senses. The day is not over and there’s no breeze in the air. Humid. Quiet. Just the soft mutter of some birds in the canopy. The trickle of the stream. Through the mists, you can see the long curve of the river in the valley beyond. We’re drifting back to sleep, up on the balcony. Not long woken, yet night calls back to us. What’s the harm? We’re high in the trees. There’s not a bit of work to do today. Just the slow rotation of nature below us. Life, death, rebirth. We nuzzle into the soft folds of the hammock. What adventure awaits in our dreams? What worlds will we make? The colours of the universe swim before me, tantalizing in their richness, spoiling to be made into something new. All this I see, in the early hours of the day. So much remains.
Paddy Dobson
21st March 2021