When I’m looking for words I sometimes go into the garden. Of course there are lots of words in the house, and even more in my head, but they are not always easy to get at.

The ones is the house are mostly in books, and it takes a long time to find the right one, and the ones in my head are very tricky and often change between my head and my chosen method of recording.

In the garden the birds and the leaves sing to me and I understand their language. This morning I am in the garden with my laptop and a cup of coffee. It’s quite early, 7.30. I can hear goldfinches twittering and cars hissing. One of the goldfinches is above me on next door’s goat willow. Boo is shuffling around under the raspberry canes. Then I look up and straight down the garden another goldfinch is sitting on a branch of the Amelanchier I planted. Gold and red, gone in a flutter.

And now a robin is down there; I don’t think I’ve seen a robin in the garden before. I must have done, but I don’t remember.

For a while I stop recording and just look and listen, and sip my coffee. A blackbird lands right in front of me to eat the fallen plums. I’ve picked fifty-one pounds this year, a record, and any that are not picked now are for the birds, strictly for the birds.

It takes time, all of this. I have a new revelation. I had it yesterday, led there by my wonderful lover and friend. It goes something like this: I don’t have to achieve anything. Now this is strange. I’m deliberately leaving it as a phrase in a sentence in a paragraph, tucked away in the middle of this blog. I can’t quite let it out just yet. I need to keep it wrapped up. It’s such a strange thought, but it has this chime of truth that is tinkling in my ears in a most delightful way.

I’ve gone back into the house. The air feels a little damp in the garden. I’ve opened the double doors and I can see the broad swathe of my wild garden and I can still hear the birds, also the washing machine. I’ve closed the hatch and the kitchen door to quieten the washing machine, and the wood pigeon call sounds louder.

The garden has gone very wild. The garden is full of life. The garden is producing fruit. The garden is fantastically wild. The garden is an energetic buzzing twittering wonder.

I’m always looking for metaphors. Daniel, my lodger, is moving out tomorrow, and on the paving outside the double doors are two large cardboard boxes he has packed which are waiting to be collected by the carriers. They are just boxes. I’m thinking about my son Daniel, who I will see tomorrow, and who is also moving house, leaving everything behind. I will take him on the next leg of his journey and we will listen to the test match on the radio as we go.

I’m looking for the special knot that will tie all this together, but I can’t find it. All I know is the birds are twittering and the leaves are moving in the wind and the boxes are waiting and I am recording. And without me the birds go on twittering and the leaves go on moving and the boxes wait. The only knot I know is the love knot, and I’m happily ravelling in its gentle bonds. And I don’t have to achieve anything.