Sunshine, nectarines and love for breakfast

I think the urge to write, talk or communicate in any way, is really a will to share, to give, to get as close as we can to co-experience.

What makes me lament sometimes is that I can experience a morning as sweet, crisp-cool and bright as this morning, and never be able to get it across truly enough for someone else to understand how good it was; how it felt to stand in the frame of the open back door wearing my dressing gown with a hot coffee in hand and see the light, actually see the border between light and shadow streaming down through the trees behind the house and the breeze lifting and tugging at gossamer threads picked out in thin golden umber atop the garden fence as low cool dewy air crept into the kitchen over my bare feet.

See? I can have a go. And maybe you feel you know what I mean...you think back to see if you can remember something like that yourself.
But there's still a shortfall, see?

Things I shouldn't give you which were still a part of the scene that gave the feeling - the white plastic door frame with black muck in the nooks, the unwashed and brown-scummed baking dish someone left outside on the gravel ages ago, the lavender dying back, Khalil's carnivorous plants tucked under the brush of the weeds in the shade, the pile of undone washing-up in the kitchen, the garden hose snaking around the washing line because Khalil and Steve are constantly trying to dissuade next door's rabbit in pursuing Bunny's affections by spraying him, the slightly unkempt wet grass, the flaking fence paint...the list goes on.

And worst of all is what went on in me as a result. I felt good. But I felt good to be standing there, thinking of the working day ahead, thinking of how Krissa and I made coffees in the morning in the same way as I just had, how I watched When Harry Met Sally again last night, wondering what kind of morning would greet my last day in the UK, marvelling at how cold my feet had gotten all of a sudden despite the warmth of the low angling sunshine, wondering again how rainbows really work as I see the light pick out the myriad drops of dew clinging to the grass...these and a hundred other fleeting thoughts...and all that, too, is a part of that feeling, and can never be really shared.

And all of this lasted for less than two minutes.
It's lonely behind those eyes, isn't it?
That four dimensional, sunshine-shot world you dance through will never be seen the same way by anyone.

But we try, don't we? We write. We talk, we explain and express ourselves.
We share as much as we can. We give as much as we can.
We get as close to presenting to someone else that world we see and live in as we can. And we know that the best way of all of this is sharing moments like this morning...living them together, experiencing them together, sharing that intake of cold morning breath in the sunshine.

I decided to walk to work. I listened to Ben Folds Five. I bought nectarines for my team from a market stall before going into the office. There was a woman in front of me buying her monthly lot of fruit and vegetables, including a lot of turnips. Krissa rang this morning at about 7am. She was a little tipsy after her party at the Cloisters Café. I love her.

I wanted to give her this morning.