As I often do on a Sunday, I visited my local cafe for lunch yesterday. We chose to sit outside because it was dry after a rain filled week and despite the distinct nip in the air all the other tables were full. The food as usual was gorgeous and the conversation fun and interesting, but half way through the meal I realised that although I was having a lovely time my mind was elsewhere. I was still half mulling over issues I’d encountered during the week and ticking off jobs still needing to be done. I was not fully present.

I took a deep breath in and as I exhaled I let go of everything else not taking place in that moment, bringing my surroundings into sharp focus. I became aware of the delicate Spring sunshine on my face, the chilly breeze on my skin, the warm weight of the blanket wrapped around my jean clad legs. The faint scent of my companion’s after shave, his strong hands gesticulating to make a point. Wafts of tantalising cooking coming through the open window of the kitchen above us and the delicate aroma of elderflower blossom as I sipped my drink, bubbles popping on my tongue.

I watched a youngish couple on the next table not utter a word to each other, each with their heads buried in their phones as they waited for their food to arrive. Another couple interacted with their children and their dogs but not each other. I felt sad that they were so obviously checked out.

The melodic song of a blackbird perched in a nearby pink magnolia tree was lost amid the raucous chatter of a group of friends and the gravelled tones of Teddy Swims playing over the loud speakers – this song has special meaning to me and my fingers unconsciously drummed the beat, the wooden table rough under my soft fingers.

The short drive home was filled with delights. Verges brimming with bright yellow dandelions above which hung hedgerow branches laden with white blackthorn blossom. We slowed briefly as a Kestrel swooped literally yards in front of the car to pick out prey from the roadside. Ahead the fells looked clear and majestic and as we turned into my road delicate white petals from my neighbour’s cherry tree cushioned our path. Once inside the house we watched the male Woodpecker make his daily visit to the seed feeder through the kitchen window, circled overhead by a pair of Buzzards carried on the winds. Time slowed.

We only have now and it is a wondrous gift, that’s why it’s called the present.