That time of year when snow glistens in the sun. The muted sounds buffed into tranquillity. All perfect winter scenes as social media are serenaded by a whole orchestra of glittery, snowy pictures that burst onto the scene.
And then it all melts. And you’ve got a foot of mud to wade through. The soggy ground squelching, holding wellies down stronger than an industrial hoover. The fear of becoming wellieless grips as each step is taken. The thought of a soggy sock in the middle of an open field, far from any relief of a dry foot grips your chest as tight as watching a movie where the music has gone into ‘suspense’ mode. The potential of looking like a flamingo, but without the glamour safari backdrop, as your welly remains in that last step is a very real, impending doom thought. Separation anxiety very quickly sets in. Noo, this is not the time to try the hippy bare-foot, guitar playing country life walk. This walk was to sort a fence. And a urgent matter. I don’t want a soggy sock. I want my wellies!
And so, to redeem that tiny piece of grace, two hands desperately go into starfish mode, the yoga pose (yes neighbours, of course I’m practicing yoga in the middle of a cow field) is maintained as the slow and very cautious bend is undertaken to perform the tug of war against the mud. Who’s going to win? Surely not the mud. The tugging ensures. Until suddenly, you win. The mud releases it’s grip as you fly backwards. Your wellieless foot is still dry. Hooray! Ok, you’re bums now soaking from the landing, but hey, at least you’ve been reunited with the wellie. The mutterings of ‘aye, this is the good life, huh?’ reverberate in the mind. Well, no one can’t say I’m not close to nature. I’m about a foot deep in it!
And I’m not sure if I look better in the flamingo pose or the yoga pose. I’ll go ask the cows.