This weekend was a hazy, sun-kissed series of perfect moments:
My son and my Dad at breakfast sharing a joke, their heads thrown back in delighted laughter.
The glorious patchwork of the welsh hills in the sunshine, the heart stopping beauty of their tree-lined undulations against the cornflower blue of the cloudless sky.
Sitting chatting with my Mum next to a babbling brook while Eli played happily, his wellies full of water.
Opening the skylight in my bedroom to look over the higgledy-piggledy roofs of the town. Breathing in the familiar summer scent of the fresh air, feeling momentarily transported back in time to my childhood.
Walking across the school field hand in hand with Bart, glancing back to watching Eli meandering slowly behind us, crouching to pick daisies, his tongue pressed against his lower lip in concentration. All around us the glowing beech trees, set alight by the evening sun, shimmering in the breeze…folding myself onto the soft grass to take it all in, watching the ancient oak tree dance, its branches moving as though they were laughing.
Eli alone in the garden centre shop dancing to the music. Crouching and bobbing; his little elbows moving side to side with purpose and joy.
The perfect, delicate, white plumpness of apple blossom; wanting it to last forever but knowing that its fleeting existence is what makes it so beautiful in the first place.
The pleasingly frequent sound of my sister’s laughter.
I felt utterly content and happy just to be in those places, at those times, with people I love. Maybe the meaning of life is simply be to be alive.
*** Some recommended listening to accompany this post***