Waking up in the countryside is totally different from waking up in the city. I am staying with my parents in their house in the country, surrounded by fields and cows, tractors and trees.
I can’t say I’m a city girl or a country girl. I’m a bit of both I suppose. I need the city, I need the hustle and bustle of every day life, I need the fashion, the action and the social life. But, I also need the country life; the life where I can have fresh air and the therapeutic task of gardening. When I come home to the house where I grew up in, I realise how lucky I am to have the choice of living in both the city and the countryside.
This morning I awoke to the sound of birds singing and cows mooing in the distance. I ate my breakfast on the patio in the sun, watching a small bird washing herself in our bird bath. The sun was shining, the bees buzzing around our roses. A tabby cat crossed the far end of the garden and slowly approached me on the patio where I was sipping on my tea.
“Morning Tabby,” I said softly, and stroked the warm tiger-like fur of the cat. She purred up at me, before sitting her podgy body down lazily by my feet.
I spread my mother’s home made jam on a scone and took a bite into it. The bird in the bird bath was splashing about, unaware that there was a cat only a few feet away from her.
“This is the life…” I said aloud, not to anyone or anything in particular.
There was a slight breeze in the garden, my tousled bed-head hair blew slightly, tickling my shoulders. I smiled. This was what I had needed. The past few weeks stuck in the city, breathing polluted air and dust, had taken its toll on my inner strength.
With a sigh of relaxation, I leaned over and picked up the sleepy cat, holding her on my lap. The only animals I come across in the city are dirty pigeons, stray dogs and mice.
Normally, I wake up to the terrifying sound of my hideous alarm clock, or Goth neighbour next door having sex with God knows who. I’ve usually tossed and turned all night while trying to drown out the sirens coming from outside by putting the pillow over my head.
I eat my breakfast while watching T.V., take a quick shower and trip over the wet towels dropped on the floor while I dash out for my bus to uni, which is, as always, crowded with students and pensioners and delayed on the route because of road works.
Could it be that I am, after all a country bumpkin at heart?
Or am I slightly biased as I write this on my laptop outside in the sun, in a beautiful garden, with a cat at my feet and real coffee in my mug?