Monday morning, outside, five.
Damp earth squelch beneath my feet.
Grey skies overhead.
Two robins hop the kitchen garden, morning hungry.
In trees so bare black, silhouetted: birdsong.
Pure, sweet, full. Soul filling, heart swelling, tear pricking, birdsong.
I fall back centuries. Woman standing in the morning garden, hearing birdsong of the heart.
Ground wet beneath my feet. Song, strength, peace in my feet. Song, strength, peace in my heart.
Five minutes only.