Day dawns at the water’s edge. The first glimmers of sunlight hit the water’s surface with dew still sparkling on the surrounding vegetation. The river is relatively calm despite small waves occasionally breaking on the shore against the surrounding rocks. All is still. The tide, quite low. In the sky, the last glimpses of the moon are seen in the west, as its brighter brother rises to the east. Cocks crow in the distance, across the river, in the yards of the pretty painted, satellite dished, fancy carred homes of the villagers. On the nearby school grounds, the tethered goats and cows also welcome the day. Whilst in the tree tops above, the birds and others of God’s tree dwelling creation give their morning praise. All is like a church choir; the water on the shore, the crowing cocks, the birds in the trees, the cows lowing, all joining harmoniously with their varying renditions.
It’s a beautiful morning in the countryside.
Suddenly in the low grasses surrounding the stone bench in the clearing, close to the school grounds, the black figure of some creature is seen darting from leaf to leaf yet staying on the underside in an effort to conceal itself. One wonders what on earth it is, only to realize that it’s a spider, one of those kind of scary black ones which usually bite if interfered with. Usually in the city, you tend to kill them if they are seen in or around the house, yet in the country you feel different. The spider runs away. Attention is turned to the animals; guess the owner was out really early to tether them, though I don’t think the night air would have done them much harm. The grounds suit their fancy, the abundance of both grasses and water suffices them and the grounds offer the freedom to roam.
Sunlight begins to filter through the trees and a gentle breeze blows increasing the wave’s momentum, and the louder the sound of the water splashing on the shore, the more one is beaconed to drift back into the land of sleep, that land where one can think what one wants, do what one wants, but then, for city folk, that’s what is thought of a countryside trip anyway. Who bothers to even consider rising early, but if one doesn’t, then the sites and sound, that peace, pure bliss, is missed.