Freedom

The only sound is the euphony of birdsong. The view, the lush greenness of the garden. The coo of the pigeon and the ‘cheer up' of the red-breasted robin sitting so close-by on the wall. My mind is still; captivated in the moment. Undulating thoughts drifting in and ambling out: Staring into the still water of reflection, pausing to repercuss on how it was in the chaos of ‘then' - before the birdsong. The cacophony of calamity that surrounded me: teetering on the brink of imminent destruction: a tightrope, bar wobbling, as I precariously, tentatively, tip-toed over the precipIce of indecision, eventually breaking free. Now the only sound is the euphony of birdsong. the sun lighting up the greenness of the garden. and glimmering, nurturing the germinating seeds of hope that are thriving , blooming in greenhouse of my mind.