Today, my chickadees, we are taking a lesson in writing from nature. Yes, nature, that great free-yet-dwindling resource that doesn’t require a membership fee despite a great deal of preferring you didn’t dump your empty vodka bottles hither and thither all over its glory.
Whilst picking up empty vodka bottles on the beach this morning (and watching the dogs fight like cats and dogs over an old bit of fishing net) I was stopped in my tracks by a sudden blazingly blue sky, the sun emerging from behind clouds to throw sparkle on the sea, and the beauteous burbling song of a skylark.
For anyone unlucky enough never to have heard a skylark in mid-sing, take my word for the fact that it’s a melodic meandering hymn of happiness, a wondrous trilling of transcendent loveliness. It is joy-inducing. Heaven on earthly.
And it only happens while the birdie is airborne. Once on the ground — stable, safe, no longer subject to the vagaries of air currents and birds of prey — the music stops.
Must I spell it out?
Set your imagination free. Fly where you haven’t flown before. Soar high, sing loud, leave the nice safe ground to the rabbits and the voles — who, though cute enough, are not known for their glorious songs.