Simply Being, Not Doing

Today was a lazy day, the kind when everything seems to move slowly, like a leaf caught in a slow breeze. I spent the first half of it wandering through the orchard, not to work or plan but simply to see how everything was shaping up. I made a conscious decision to leave my secateurs behind, so that I would not be tempted to prune when the trees are preparing for their winter rest. This was to be a leisurely, watchful stroll, a gentle conversation with the land.

As I moved between rows of trees, I could almost sense their faint awareness. The apples, the pears, the plums, all felt like murmuring a gentle greeting, with their leaves still carrying traces of autumn’s warmth. The sunlight, filtering through the canopy, fell in soft golden patches on the ground. I found a quiet spot where the sun touched my back and stood there for a while, soaking in its mellow warmth. The air had a nip to it now, the season was tilting towards winter, and the sun felt like a familiar friend returning for a short visit.

Soon, my solitude was shared by the birds. The black throated tits were the liveliest, darting, chattering, and jumping from one branch to another with an energy that made the whole orchard feel awake. A nuthatch, unconcerned by the commotion, was busy checking out the bark of an oak, hopping upside down with perfect balance. Its quiet persistence was a delight to watch. Then came the greater yellownape, announcing its arrival with a sharp call before settling on a young pine. It began to tap and probe the bark as if conducting a careful inspection. What a striking yellow nape it has !

For a while, I stood still, listening. The orchard had turned into a natural aviary. The soundscape was rich with calls, chirps, rustles, and the occasional breeze moving through the pine needles. It was easy to lose track of time in that world. When I finally decided to go back, more than two hours had passed.

On the narrow pathway, a wildcat was stretched out lazily, relaxing in a patch of sun. It looked up briefly when I approached, blinked once in mild irritation, and shifted a little, just enough to make space but not enough to suggest it cared much about my presence. There was something amusing about its quiet confidence and laziness. It too was having a slow, easy day, much like the rest of us.

Back near the cottage, I picked up a book and settled under a tree. The hours that followed passed gently, with the rustle of leaves and the occasional song of a bird breaking the silence. The windchimes swayed in the breeze, adding their delicate notes to the afternoon. The book I was reading did not say anything particularly new, yet it carried familiar wisdom, things I already knew but still needed to hear in another’s words. Sometimes, that is the kind of reading one needs, not for discovery but for quiet affirmation.

Later, I found a forgotten packet of biscuits in the cottage and made myself a cup of hot milk tea. The combination was simple, but deeply satisfying. I was not hungry enough for lunch, the tea and biscuits were more than enough.

As I sat outside, sipping slowly, two voices drifted in from a distance. One man was speaking about the many sacrifices he had made to get something done. The other gently reminded him that his wife too was making sacrifices in her own way, quietly, steadfastly, holding the family together. Their exchange lingered with me. It made me think how often life works like that, everyone doing their part, often unseen, yet essential to the whole.

By evening, the air turned colder, and I moved back indoors. The wind had picked up, carrying a chill that hinted at the nights to come. I sat for a while by the window, watching the last light fade behind the hills and the distant snow-peaks change colour, from pastel pinks to deep orange.

It had been a slow day, yes, but full of quiet companionship. The orchard, the birds, the cat, the sun, and the soft murmurs of human life, all had played their part. I smiled to myself. Not every day needs to be full of doing. Some are meant for simply being, listening, watching, and remembering that everything around us, in its own way, is alive and trying its best to thrive.

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