On Sunday mornings it’s my turn to get up and take the dog on his early walk. To be honest, it’s not my favourite thing to do – I much prefer being cosy and warm in bed, but as my husband does every other day in the week, I think he’s earnt a morning off!

So I heaved my tired self out of bed this morning, stumbled around getting dressed, ate some breakfast and finally left the house a bit  before 9am. It was cold, may only 2 or 3 degrees above freezing and there were only a few hardy folks braving the cold.

After a while the dog and I made our way to the foreshore by Whale Island. It’s a scrap of beach opposite HMS Excellent, a naval facility which forms part of the Navy base at Portsmouth. The inlet is part of a tidal feature which used to be a lot larger until the construction of the M275 motorway in the 1980s. Stamshaw Bay, as it was then, used to reach right up to end of the roads which now butt up to the motorway. Instead of the bay, there is a now a park created from the small bay which was filled in with the rubble dug out from the foundations of the motorway. The park is nice, and has lots of well established trees, but I do wonder sometimes about Stamshaw Bay and how it might have looked before…

Anyway, there we were, the dog and I, braving the cold along with a lady jogging and two people walking along the path. Low tide was at around 5:30am so much of the seabed was visible, except for a few gradually deepening pools where the seawater was beginning its slow return to the beach.

Amongst this rather bleak winter morning tableaux was a family of swans. Two mature adults and a clutch of cygnets who are probably close to two years old. The young have lost nearly all their brown feathers now and are much closer in appearance to their elegant parents, except for their smaller size.

We watched them, the dog and I, as they flew up and down the length of the inlet. After a while, it appeared as if the older swans were badgering their young to practice flying; gently hassling them until they finally took off and flew, close to the water, up to the other end of the beach, which is about half a mile long.

It takes a lot of effort for a bird that size to defy gravity and take off. The younger birds had to flap hard and they didn’t get too far above the surface of the water – but they still looked beautifully elegant as they did so.

in the quiet of the winter morning I noticed the sound they made as they flew – it wasn’t a vocal call that I could hear, but the sound of the air as it rushed past the ends of their wings. It was a very particular tone, almost like musical notes, as they powered towards the end of the beach.

I quite often pray and sing quietly as I walk with the dog on Sunday mornings, and as I did so this morning, I thought about the sound of the swans as they flew – that particular harmony of air and motion. I think there are moments for all of us, perhaps at work, perhaps at church, maybe when we’re soothing an anxious child or offering kindness to a stranger, when we feel that moment, when we are that harmony of air and motion. Those moments when we are in our element, at our best, doing what we were created to be and do. And it’s not usually a grand moment, not a fanfare or ‘superhero’ moment, but instead a moment of ordinary heroism which makes such a difference to people.

Do you know what those moments or environments are for you? Can you recognise those spaces or places where you are in the harmony of air and motion? Where you are soaring and doing that thing which you are naturally gifted at and which blesses people around you, with hardly any effort? Think about those times, seek them out, invest in them. Because nobody does it quite the way that you do!