Every morning, I walk to beautiful Blackwattle Bay near my house and I sit on a concrete block: I call it “My Window Seat Overlooking the Bay”. It looks out onto the silvery water and the Anzac Bridge, and every day I either have Mr Pelican (a giant pelican), Little Miss Sophie (a tiny puppy who catches frisbees clean with her mouth), Jacko (a giant chocolate coloured dog who’s walked by Peter, a grandfatherly lawyer who wears a super trendy Deus motorcycle cap) or Ian the fisherman (a twenty-something bloke who catches fish from the jetty and runs a café in Marrackville “behind the karate centre”) strolling/swimming/bounding past and saying “Haaaaiii!”.
It’s a lovely morning ritual and we’re all strangers who know each other now. All doing our thing to make our mornings feels nice.
There’s something constant but always calming about sitting on My Window Seat Overlooking the Bay, closing my eyes and just listening to the water. Hearing dogs yapping. The smell of the grass behind me and the gentle stream of sunshine on my face. It’s times like those twenty minutes where I regale nature with the biggest heart hug I can— because it reminds me of the potential of a new day and the promise that we’ll all learn something by the end of it, no matter how small, confronting or subtle it may be 🙂
