Sitting so close to the buddleia we share the same breath, our scents mingling, its leaves playing patterns on my skin.

If you sit still you can hear the unnoticed sounds, first the birds and distant cars, then the sigh of the breeze and leaves, creaking wood.

Blue sky, warm sun, green grass. Simple pleasures.

Woke happy. What secret slip of sweetness births us from sleep in random joy?

Sitting still long enough to hear the song of birds, the whisper of air, the movement of my breath, the sense of the day.