Snuggled in the tent, warm, toasty and not wanting to move. Through the open tent fly the morning was rising. Mist, a lightly lit sky and the chill. It had to happen. There is a point when you need to get up, to move and to see what it is the day presents.
Oh my god, where are my ughs,why is this happening and isn’t there another way. Scrambling along the bed side she finds the boots, more scrambling to find the camera and more scrambling to get the hair out of her eyes and find the bloody zips.
Ok – out of the door and into the morning. How do you catch the mist, where are the ducks? You can feel the cold seeping up through the boots, the wet moving up into the toes, the chill against your neck but somehow the beauty is more. The stillness awakens the spirit. Walking down the stairs, halting as she realises that there are no more steps – another step is walking on the glass pane of the river – walking on water as the reflections meld into each other.
it will be a beautiful day.