In the Tub.

Sunday night, Puddle, Cornwall. From the wood fired bath tub.

Looking at you, red hair on blue sky and bursting hazel branches behind. A spring moment, a freeze-frame of all that is good and sweet in life at this moment. Hot water, heated by wood that we have chopped ourselves and stacked neatly in the shed. It's bath night, such a simple pleasure. Hot water and a cold drink and a clear view. From this end of the tub, my view is up into the trees that edge the little wood. Wild Cherry, Sycamore, Hazel and the King above, Oak. Last to leaf and only just starting. I've enjoyed the change of view from the tub over the last months. Bare branches, to bud to first leaf. At this time of night, the Blackbirds have a merry contest. One close by sings his loud anthology, a rise and fall of impossibly intricate melodies. Another, further away sings its hearty reply, but our blackbird definitely has the edge on him. A pair of Bluetits arrive in the top branches of the big Oak. They twitter together and make their way around the new shoots. Cleaning the bath earlier, there were a lot of papery cases inside. Submerged here now and looking up, I watch the journey of the papery case. Plucked from foraged bud, lightly flickering through the canopy of Oak, past sycamore and old stone wall arriving gently to float on the water.