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.
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