The smell of the woods in summer, a sweetness as though each branch had been coated in honey.

Contrast to - the anxieties which eat away at me at night, so that sometimes I feel I might scream if I do not move -

Yet there is the urge to be still, to be still enough to reach my soul out to the entire world.

Silence enough to hear the world - All the creatures shrieking their own tunes - trilling, croaking, buzzing, desperate, lonely, proud, joyous - all the voices overlapping, yet on such a day all seem to join in praising the kindness of the sun, the richness of the earth and the cool caress of the air.

The bees are working furiously today, as I laze about watching. What they must think of me!

Days like these are gentle and kind, but there is still something waiting - some unresolved anxiety - an is what I most need to rid myself of - the feeling that something more must be done, completed or accomplished, before the living can really begin.

A grandmother stooped in blue hat and coral clamdiggers taking her overweight grandchildren for a stroll. They slump and pout and talk about ice cream as she looks about.


They pass, and the creatures remain unconcerned. 


Who is it, speaking now? There is a shrill conversation, a single screech on each side, one tree to another - you come here! No, you come here!. Anda few intruders trying to raise their voices above the repetitive back and forth. It continues, dying down gradually like two young siblings who have lost the heat of the argument and fade to the occasional mumbled "did not" and "did too".