Have you noticed how sounds carry differently at this time of year?
I can hear the dogs barking far down the valley in the village. Their exchange feels much closer.
And the rush of water tumbling over the stones as it drops down into the old reservoir tunnel echoes around the valley.
The sound of ducks splashing as they land on the water. I can’t see them up here on the hillside in the gathering dusk after feeding the boys.
Yet I also notice the sounds inside. Wondering how long we are going to be in this now-but-not-yet state.
Wondering who we are and who we are becoming.
And then I hear the flitting of the moorhen beating out their distinctive rhythm skimming across the water, and I know.
Know that we are enlarged in the waiting. And the becoming is who we have always been if we dare to let it out.
And by this stage, it is so dark I need the head torch… and I see the moths.
Pause. See differently. Re-story