Spring of the year.

The moon was full last night.

The field was white at midnight.

Two nightingales sang in the woods.

I slept with the curtains and windows open – the moonlight has to be good for you.

So I woke early.

The sky is blue. The sun strong; there is  a breeze.

Birds are calling. A big black bee lands on the latch of the shutters.

The shutters are blue like the sky, the latch is black like the bee.

A woodpecker drills in the distance.

Washing dries on the line.

The cat wanders past.

In the shade it is still fresh, in the sun it is warm.

I am in the shade.

Writing.

Now I’m going to stop and step into the warmth.