Today I’m having a quiet day at home. Getting organised. Tidying up. Laying low. Escaping from the rising heat outside. Summer starts here tomorrow.
The other evening I went along to my yoga class in the little neighbouring village of Glenreagh. I love taking off my shoes and leaving them at the door. Sitting down on the mat and closing my eyes.
With the full moon rising soon, our teacher guided us through the Salute to the Moon sequence. A beautiful series of movements that left me feeling centred and grounded. And maybe, just maybe, open to new possibilities. Reaching up, breathing in, bending down, breathing out. It felt just right.
With the rain clanging on the tin roof above, I looked out through the doors of our yoga space. My gaze came to rest on the grand sandstone escarpment, standing strong and steady against the clouded sky.
One of my favourite times is the drive home from my yoga class. This is a little piece of hidden time between my yoga and the real world. And it is just mine. The world seems quiet. And all seems well.
On this particular journey home, I was struck by the beauty and buzz of summer on its way. The afterglow of the setting sun and the mist rising after the clearing rain. The flying foxes travelling together through the sky. The sound of cicadas filling both the heavy air and my mind.
A moment in time.
Between day and night.
And spring and summer.
Caught in the twilight.
And absolutely alive.