Bird Song

When I am gone, I leave to you the sunlight that sparkles on the lake the fresh green grass and the scent of lilacs. You may have all birdsong and a billion stars and a soft warm breeze to touch you in my stead. I leave you the seasons and their unending procession deep roots and swallows swooping in summer blue sky. White fluffy clouds and sunsets, you may have those too. Fresh green leaves, ancient woodlands and gnarled bark, the first crocus as it peeps through springs dark damp earth and every russet coloured leaf that swirls in autumn is yours. Ocean waves and soft sand, shells and driftwood, as much as you can carry. Every friendly dog you pass in the street, the wag of their tails is just for you. And when snow falls as it invariably will, its deep silence belong to you, just you. The sound of every bell, the tinkle of every windchime, all yours. Dappled sunlight dancing through deep shade is yours. Clifftop walks and soaring gulls, they too are yours. Filtered light and darkest night, all yours. Rustling leaves, humming bees, yours. Galloping horses and sleeping cats, pale pink roses, and all my love, are yours . . . all yours.