Another sound; the one I try to ignore. Roaring, relentless traffic only two gardens and one house back. The A3 main arterial road into London: lorries rumble, motorbikes zoom, sirens wail. Non-stop white noise energy. But unlike the wind it only travels in two directions...scurry and hurtle. The breeze fluffs my hair briefly, and then moves on. I follow it now, past the hawthorn, whose berries sit next to the wind-fallen apples gently rotting on the recently re-discovered path. I watch it rattle the seed pods of the lupins, and the dried up petals of the aquilegia dance in its wake. Hover flies explore, flies buzz and bees bumble, still searching for nectar amidst last-blooming coral pink roses and yellow morning glory. Wafts of compost and the sweet-candyfloss scent of blackberries on the air. Butterflies dance a twist together, up into the sky, round and round, before breaking free and going on their way. Joy! The wind shows me that everything has its own dance, its own time and its own journey in the cycle of becoming. The world is not linear, unlike the busy road nearby.
This is a piece of writing that came from an online writing course I did with Starhawk in September and October.