Forty One Minutes.
I escaped out of the house alone this morning for a truly spectacular, glorious little solitary amble around my neighbourhood. It was bright and sunny but shockingly cold, with icy frost at ground level. I walked up through the cobbled back streets to the cherry trees at the top of the park. The morning sun was still low in the sky, the shadows were deliciously long and all was so heart achingly bright and beautiful.
It's a long weekend here in the UK as we celebrate the arrival of Spring. Here in my home town it's also the weekend when we celebrate the heritage of the local waterways. Our canal is chocka full of boats dressed up to the nines, with this years theme being "Great Britain". So a plethora of Union Jack flags and red-white-and-blue. It stirred my heart strings I have to say, made me glad for the umpteenth time to live in this sweet, friendly, vibrant old Yorkshire market town.
On my way homewards, I marvelled at the old stone bridge, the towns sweet floral endeavours, the incredible watery reflections, the amazing blue of the cold spring sky, the silvery green of newly unfurled tree leaves, the light on the distant moorlands. And I arrived at the back street of my very own house and marvelled at the old Victorian cobbles, at the crazy weird old chimney pot that sits above our bathroom, and my own back yard windmills. I love it all so much, with such a squeeze of my heart. I love that I can step out of my back door on a chilly May morning and enjoy forty one minutes of absolute gloriousness.
Lucky ol' me.