White feathers float on blue beyond and I am the humblest one on the patio serving up Pavlova overflowing with fresh strawberries and cream and that is as light as the clouds I imagine to be above me and yet, the sky above distracts and causes me to forget the conversation and the entertainment and I am lost once more into myself. There is nothing like this evening, the meal, the friends, the dogs' prancing, the crumbs of a meal cast carelessly onto flagstones that gather moss and the grey of lichen.
I am part of the stones and sit silent when words are required. I refuse participation. Faces fuse and blend into music that plays from the open windows and it is all very beautiful. Maybe there is nothing more to write and yet there has to be.
Warm day. Freedom. The beach full of belching seaweeds and shells and stones cast into the calm water for the dogs to catch and nothing only ripples of water that spoke of time to me and the shore, strewn with shells that I wanted to gather to place on the windowsills to relish come Winter.
Dishes in the sink to be washed and dreams on the shore of this world. You have to scoop them up and place them in order. Wipe them down and make them gleam and then start all over again come morning time and yet, I hesitate. This day is too precious to let go. I will not until the weight of heavy dark purple clouds fall on my lids and force to let go, otherwise, I will live this day into night and beyond. This is all there is. Blue sky. Feathered clouds. Son with freckles like islands on his face. Bare feet. Open windows cast to the day. Silent. Still. Bliss. True. Gift. of. a day in Mid-Summer. Nothing else but this.