Is it strange that some mornings…often Saturdays and Sundays, when I’ve woken on my own and light is creeping in the windows and kitties are nestled around me, but also Mondays and Wednesday and any other day…my first thoughts turn to Oxford? It doesn’t seem to matter the season or what’s going on in my life or what logical, conscious decisions I’ve made…it still happens.
I’m listening to a song by Amy MacDonald of Scotland…where I’m sure there’s a coastal cottage awaiting me, the tea kettle already hot, the fire already burning…that captures my feelings so well on so many subjects, but most especially on Oxford…
Today I sat on my log bench under my oak tree and felt the balmy breeze blow around me, looked down at my heels pressing into the grass, felt the wood beneath my hands, and watched the sparrows rustling through the brushes. I didn’t want to move from that perfect spot, even in the same moment that all I wanted was to feel faraway breezes, hear my heels click over new grounds, run my hands over foreign surfaces, see the entire world.
Now I need to take a deep breath, find my resolve, and work on my manuscript. But first I’ll end with a quote that I think I should read often…
She who would learn to fly one day must first learn to stand and walk and run and climb and dance; one cannot fly into flying.