Morning floats in on a wave of mist, and the hare's come out to wash their ears together.
The first finger of light is drawn across the grass . . .
and soon washes the paddocks in shades of gold, vanilla and wheat.
And not for the first time, I feel that this landscape makes me who I am.
If you befriend the earth, if you listen patiently,
she will share her secrets.
You will begin to know them. The same way the butterfly knows where she was born, and returns at first light.
