Magpie-song beckons in a dull grey dawn. I step outside to the scent of eucalyptus, and wet grass that has been too-long dry.
Near the top of the hill a young deer doesn’t catch my scent in the moist, still air until I am quite close. We watch one another until the deer barks alarm and dashes away. It stands far off, a silhouette in the mist, looking back, then disappears into the forest.
Nothing else moves. The trees are delicately painted lace outlines, grey against exquisite grey. The spider webs are finely woven nets of dew. The deer and I cross paths again. Again. The morning is still, the bird song fading to the sounds of day as I walk home.
All this is mine. All this is mine anytime I choose to get out of bed at daybreak and step outside the door.
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