Rising at 4am to catch the dawn. Reclining in a chair outside, a cup of tea watching the sun rise, feeling that first bright light on my face, breathing deeply as I do, listening to the birds signing. Jumping in the car, heading down for a coastal walk and a jog to stretch the muscles and open the lungs. Kicking my boots off, shorts off, then wading or even swimming in the sea. It is usually still warm throughout the Autumn. Back into the town to seek out our favourite grocer to buy local produce and a good bottle of organic French wine. Home to make a lunch and sit lazily in the kitchen with the fire lit, chatting about not much on the face of it, yet really important things underneath, enjoying a long, slow lunch of crisp apple, herby salad, some untried cheese and medley of vegetables, taking two, maybe three hours to tarry due to good conversation. Then a sleep, entwined, drifting off lightly, still capturing those sounds of life going on, but without us; a swift screaming, the faint drone of an aircraft's propellers some several thousand feet away, the hollow sound of a hammer knocking a rail back onto a wooden post on some distant farm. Knowing that the only thing that matters is taking this time. Knowing that all we really have is the present. Knowing that is enough. Lighting candles, allowing the evening and night to elongate before us, pushing the day as long as we can, going almost full circle to midnight, gazing at stars, knowing that this can go on an on. Just stopping and slowing down really.