Sitting on a bench and watching things.
In my back garden, facing away from all our neighbours with the illusion of privacy, just watching the play of light through the branches of the trees next door, listening to birdsong and children chattering and pedestrian crossings pipping and an occasional train in the far distance.
In my front garden, exchanging greetings with neighbours and passers by and watching all the neighbourhood cats jostle for position and walk along the fences.
In our local playground, seeing small children master the stepping stones and slides, watching the teenagers navigating social relationships, seeing parents exchanging weary nods as children weave through swings and climb trees.
In the town centre, watching the hustle and bustle of busy shoppers, chuggers, sometimes being joined by someone needing to rest wobbly old legs before moving on, or seeing the pigeons advancing on abandoned sausage rolls.
Swap bench for tree stump in the woods, and watching the beetles and squirrels and birds.
Sitting in a dark room with the curtains open watching the sky turn purple, pink and orange, as sunrise bursts forth in a glorious blaze of colour.
Sitting by my child’s bed watching the rise and fall of quiet peaceful sleepy breathing.
Drinking cool cool water on a hot summer day.
Sitting beside a friend, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip, just utterly comfortable in each other’s company. Or leaning back to back to catch breath after a strenuous hike. Laughing until you can hardly breathe.
Watching your child before they see you. And that magic moment when they realise you are there, and eyes light up and face transforms. Or when, tired, they snuggle into your body and fall asleep holding tight.
Wandering around the house when everyone else is asleep, turning off lights and locking doors, and shutting the world away.
Clean sheets and a comfy pillow, warm blankets and cold night air.
Cold clear nights when the stars shine bright, frost making patterns on the concrete. Deep deep breaths when the cold clears out the cobwebs in the lungs and ears tingle. And then shooting stars and a hint of the Milky Way.
Lighting a bonfire and warming fingers over the flames, and then coming inside smelling of smoke and autumn leaves.
Finding the local kingfisher.
Not free, but hopefully will always be in my budget - making porridge on a cold morning, and rice pudding on a rainy day. Saturday soup from the week’s leftovers. Sourdough bread getting sharper as the mother ages. The first sip of coffee in the morning. Daffodils.