First on, there was nobbut God (Yorkshire version of Genesis 1:1)
To praise you is the desire of man, a little piece of your creation (St Augustine, Confessions, I:i)
It's early... The house is empty. I am sitting up in bed. I can hear birdsong outside, and distant traffic; clocks ticking and hot water in the pipes; beyond, beneath and within that, silence... I can feel the breeze from the window. A van pulls up and its engine idles... I am distracted. Who is it? Are they coming here? My thoughts are outside in the street, neglecting the bliss of my body snuggled in pillows and duvet. I return... My hands are warmed by a Chinese cup holding African red bush tea: I sip it and savour the delicate honey-warm taste. I think of the Cloud of Unknowing, and in my own little flawed way I try to follow its advice: I breathe the word GOD, in and out.
It's the season of Beltane. It's May, Mary's month. It's still Eastertide. It's good.