It was almost balmy out on the deck this morning thanks to a warm south wind, and I decided to just do nothing and enjoy it for the half-hour or so before I had to start work. I kicked back in a chair, put my feet up, and took the opportunity to just be… listening to the whisper of the wind in the leaves of the birch tree and the rustling of the bamboo. A fly on the deck rail was rubbing its legs together, preening and grooming itself with the thoroughness of a cat having a long, languorous wash. Somewhere in the distance, a woman was singing. It might have been an old Billie Holiday record, but I wonder if there was some lady out in her yard singing the old songs just like Lady Day. Sparrows were calling back and forth. Time seemed to stand still in a magical moment that contained everything that matters.
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