The cricket season begins! (Or at least it did here…)

Will and I have a long running rivalry in the form of one on one cricket challenge. In the winter this takes the form of a game in our hallway, with resultant danger for ornaments, décor and the odd passer by on their way from living room to kitchen.

But today the weather was wonderful, and the light was still playable (at least for us, but perhaps not for those wimpy professionals) until almost 6.30pm. It was 11 degrees centigrade here today, with bright sunshine and a whiff of spring in the air.

(The photo above was taken in France though- it is not quite shorts weather yet.)

Today we tried out our new ‘nets’- the first bowl on the (experimental but soon to be adopted by grounds everywhere) block paved driveway.

The rules are like this- I have to get him out (caught or bowled) three times, but he only has to get me once. We use an assortment of balls- basically anything that has not already disappeared into the far distance.

Some of you will doubt our sanity- because for you, the joys of cricket have been obscured by prejudice.

But for me, this simple pleasure is full of pure joy- for these reasons…

The coming spring after a long cold winter.

Being with my boy.

The whiff of competition (particularly as I can still hold my own against a 9 year old!)

And the shape given to body and mind by that most noble of pass times- cricket.

The sound of bat on ball and the glory of a ball sailing high in the direction of the Clyde.

The occasional perfection of the perfect leg break as it turns through the gate and smashes into the stumps.

And they dare to call this a waste of time? I intend to play for eternity when I get to heaven…

Time to be born…

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We are just back from a lovely picnic and walk around Benmore Gardens, where the early rhododendrons are already flowering. Thought I would post a few pictures.dscf3609

So following on from my last post’s burst of optimism- heres another poem from the Ecclesiastes 3 project…

A time to be born

There is a time for all things under heaven

A time when the last bones of winter snow
Are digested by the old dogs of the mountain
And all things are possible
All things are made new

A time when hills are full of the hope of life
From creaking peak to fecund valley
Sky above trees above gorse above grass
The spring has sprung
And shaken out at last
Once tucked in rolled tight buds
Now made leaf and flower
By the prodigal sun

So here it is
Hearts bleating
Pulses buzzing
Weaving us new nests
And swaddling us bright green

For now is the time to be born

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