Not Alone

Our visitors have gone, and Simon is in England for a few days. As often happens when I am alone, a mood of quiet reflection has descended upon me, like a mist over the calm sea in the cool of the evening.

We thoroughly enjoyed having Jane and her family to stay, and Simon will write more about that, with accompanying pictures, when he returns from his travels. When they packed up all their holiday paraphernalia and left on Monday, the farm fell silent and empty, as if mourning the absence of young life. I think this place is happier when there are children about.

And the following day, Simon departed too, leaving me alone with the animals and the emptiness, and a brief hiatus in the space-time continuum that is my life.

And during this transitory interlude I have noticed some things.

I have noticed that owls hoot louder when the moon is full, and that llamas grazing in moonlight look like reindeer on twilight snow.  I have noticed that tree frogs and woodpeckers laugh at everything, and that fairies mutter in the tree-tops like a babbling cloud of flocking swallows. I have noticed that small dragonflies with invisible wings do not always fly away when touched, and that orange butterflies glide instead of flutter.

I have noticed big, rosy apples growing on a tree I did not know was there, and wild pansies speckling the orchard grass.  I have noticed that cobwebs grow thicker on my side of the bedroom, and that dimpled foot-prints appear on the freshly-made bed, even when all the cats are outside and the door has been shut.

I have noticed that when I am alone time slips and slides uncommonly, and that the space around me takes on a different shape.

And most remarkably of all, I have noticed that I never feel alone.

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