Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
After yet another wet and windy night, I ventured out into the early morning drizzle with my somewhat reluctant dog, Arthur. Surprisingly, I found fairly quickly that in spite of the conditions, I was quite enjoying myself.
It was that lovely time of day in between nighttime and daylight when everything is coming into focus, catching the light, and inching its way into life. A time when colours begin creeping out of the shadows, becoming more vivid, more vibrant, and seeping like liquid into consciousness as they take on their lucid hues and true power. Observations become honed and shapes and contrasts more explicit. Snowdrops – bright white, with their stark, bent heads bobbing against the murky green – catch the eye and draw focus.
A snail, with his bright, silver trail glinting in the half-light, makes his way methodically up a tree. Mesmerised by his slow, undulating body, I study his eye stalks as they wave about intelligently and admire his spiral-shaped shell, which is shiny and deep chestnut in colour, as though he’s been deliberately polished by the rain.
As Arthur pootles about in the long grass on the verge, I note all the different nubs of spring bulbs pushing their way valiantly through the sodden earth, creating their own mini forests in clumps of various shapes and sizes. They promise warmer weather; their rich, jewel-like colours herald the beginnings of spring.
Suddenly, I’m distracted as a friend, who calls to me daily on our walks, grabs my attention. He flutters down to the branches only a foot above my head. Settled there, with his head to one side and his tomato-red breast puffed out, he sings loudly as he watches me closely with small, black, beady eyes. Immediately I smile and call out to him; “Hello Mr Robin, nice to see you! How are you on this damp morning?”
This is a sort of ritual that has developed over the winter period as he joins us on our daily walk, coming ever closer, clearly unafraid. I’m acutely aware that he knows my voice and on hearing me talk to Arthur (as I do on all our walks), he appears from nowhere to sing his bold, beautiful song to us, regardless of which side of the road we’re on.
At first, I thought it was a coincidence, that maybe there were several robins we just happened to come across. Now, I know better. I know it’s the same one and that for whatever reason, he’s chosen to befriend us, to cheer us on our way and sing brightly, regardless of the weather conditions. This simple act always delights me, filling me with joy and bonhomie – it’s the perfect start to any morning, no matter how dreary.
Moving on, in spite of the early hour, we meet another old friend. This little furry chap has greeted us for some years now, starting long before Arthur’s dementia and when I was still able to walk both beasties for miles each day. It’s always good to see him and he reminds me of brighter times. The moment he appears he comes trotting up to Arthur, tail tall, the tip like a question mark, mewling and chirruping.
On reaching us, he walks backwards and forwards across Arthur’s chest, rubbing himself against him, and pushing his furry face into Arthur’s. I see not just tolerance from Arthur, but recognition of this friendly, fearless little ginger cat who’s greeted him in the same way many times since we first met.
Having thoroughly made himself known in the dog department, the cat jumps up onto the fence alongside us and, bottom in the air, head pushed hard into my hand, accepts a vigorous ear rub from me. I close my eyes, go nose to nose with him, and whisper my thanks. Every little touch of familiarity that stems from before the dementia began brings Arthur just a touch closer back to me and, for that, I will always be truly grateful.
Having gone far enough, Arthur turns, clearly wanting to go home. I am led by his needs and so we head back, saying goodbye to our ginger warrior with a: “Ooops, he wants to go home now, bye-bye…” We take off at a somewhat brisker pace towards breakfast, a warm greeting from Ila, my other dog, and a welcome cup of coffee for myself.
By the time we reach the back gate, it’s fully light, the working day has started, and the traffic is building. For us, the imperatives of the day are over and after Arthur has breakfast (hand-fed in the kitchen), he’ll take to bed, curl up on his velvet cushion, and sleep through until early afternoon. Ila pootles about the garden for a while before settling down in front of the log burner and me…well I’m just grateful that they’re both still here, and are settled and content.
I’ll pop out to the post office before coming home and, with my coffee and toast next to me, take to the computer to write this, sharing another ordinary day full of gratitude with you, my faithful readers.
Are you feeling creative? We are proud to have a hugely talented community on Rest Less, which is why we’re so excited to open up a section of the site dedicated to showcasing the wonderful and diverse writing of our members. If you have a piece of creative writing that you’d like to share with the Rest Less community – you can do so here.