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  • Monique Sliedrecht

Rays of Hope

Updated: Nov 11




The last week has seen clear mornings, full of crisp bright air which fills the lungs and creates an expectation for the day ahead.


This morning was an early AM wake-up. As I softly padded my way to the kitchen, I looked out of the lounge window and saw the bright moon shining in the northwest. It set the sky aglow in an electric navy atmosphere.



I went to make my coffee and when I came back, the globe of shimmering white had already lowered against the celestial backdrop which was changing from navy to cobalt - a blue similar to the knitted jumper I found in a charity shop yesterday and now slipped on to ward off the chill of the morning air.




As the sky transitioned to a light cerulean and the sun rose, casting its golden radiance over the fields, the November ‘Beaver’ moon gradually descended closer to the horizon, sometimes hiding behind the wispy pink and mauve clouds, set aglow with the mystical pale halo.

I heat the kettle up again, and quickly put my trousers over my pyjamas, and laced up my boots, grabbing my camera on my way out, eager to capture this special moment.

I’ve made a point of stepping out into dawn’s early light soon after I rise, enjoying the rest of the world waking up in front of me.

It hasn’t always been bright and still…. On a very early walk a few days ago, I made a vow to myself to get out no matter what the weather. The sea was in turmoil and the wind was blowing. Thankfully the temperature was reasonable, and with my notebook and camera in tow, I made my way down the south side of the bay, and perched myself on a dry section of sandstone, the cliffside behind me all aglow. Sitting against the rock and facing the ebbing sea, I marvelled at the morning light.




The waves rolled in, one after the other, backlit by the sun, revealing a translucent turquoise-green as they crested and fell. The tide was ebbing. A lone seagull flew past. And a large ship made its way silently across the pencil line of the horizon as the sea continued to crash against the strata of rock stretching out in front of me.





I held my coffee mug. The dark liquid was still warm, though the air was cool. I gulped it down and wrote a few more lines in my notebook.

Then I heard the sound of a helicopter flying above, foreign to this wild and natural setting, yet familiar.

The wind was getting colder. Or was I getting colder from sitting on the rocks for too long? It was time to get up and move. I put the top back on my thermos and packed up my rucksack to head home. Before stepping off the beach and onto the grassy path, I noticed a flock of lapwings flying above, in sync with each other, the underside of their beautifully shaped wings catching the light. It was good to see them.



Walking back to the house, the weather started to turn and a misty rain began to fall. Two ducks fluttered away, startled from their familiar place in the flowing burn, quacking loudly as they went.



And as I made my way on the winding lane towards the house, a perfect rainbow arc appeared in front of me, doubling in intensity as I drew nearer.








Promise.


Hope.


Back at the studio, I remain grateful for the new day ahead and all its possibilities.






"I saw the lovely arch

Of rainbow span the sky,

The gold sun burning

As the rain swept by."

- Elizabeth Coatsworth, November

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