In the night she was unseasonably warm, wrapped in nightmares and heavy bed clothes. She wakes up happy even after sleeping in fits and starts. There is a certain hope in the air around her, there is an ease and a dreaminess to everything in her path.

She cuts the berries from the bush, she lies on the cold morning ground, her eyes wide open like a child. Looking up, as the sky turns from darkness, to gun metal grey, to shades of pink, as clouds blow above the skeleton trees.

She rests for a minute in a nest of last year's leaves and she is content.
She always wants to wake early, she always wants to lie in the dirt, and she always wants to sense the magic in the air when it is near.

Bleached turtle shells, old car parts, berries... in the middle of the road, she makes her offering.

The music sounds sweeter and she always wants to be this person.
Today is one of those magic days.

x.