Morning writing can heal our wounds and bring a beautiful and lasting change. The pages invite us to do some groundwork to find the important answers. When we start to listen, our writing writes through us. I simply write about the beauty of a small moment and tenderness. Writing is like an older, wiser friend. It's always kind. When writing, we notice small moments and we start to own our life a little bit more. It feels good to write.
My grandma would tell us stories when we were visiting her. I remember only fragments of those stories of how she had to walk for miles to the school. My grandpa would cook for the Polish forces during the war. But he did not want to talk about war. He would prefer to spend time in his orchard, and take care of the trees and the plants, and the sweet mulberry tree.
Today we went for a run on the other side of the river and it was as lovely as ever, there was a couple of parrots cosy on a tree. The sky is deep blue and it contrasts lovely with the green of the trees. The day feels complete when I write in my journal. I know that this day was well recorded and honoured.
I made seabass with couscous and large bowl of salad with spicy rocket salad mixed with regular lettuce, with half lemon, olive oil, salad tomatoes, and some pine nuts, accompanied by lovely white wine, and chocolate layered cookies.
Blackbird here is singing his melodies from the morning till the evening. The descending interval of "bell" is so funny and he makes a little break before this interval, I just love his melodies. The mixture of ultrasonic sounds with the whistling, and descending intervals, he is singing from the depth of his lungs. I love his music.