Sometimes in the backyard on a quiet morning you can hear the rustle of the sea grass in a slight breeze. My toes slipped in flip flops become wet in the dew and stick to freshly cut grass. Sometimes I lay on my back and stare at the blue sky and white clouds trying to remember what it was like to be five years old and able to appreciate all the most important things.
Sometimes in the backyard on a quiet morning I can see the few morning commuters starting their days as the car slips by down the street. There is a careful balance of the morning, a gentle sway.