Summer

Sitting today, high amoung the leaves of the pussy willow, in silence. The sun streaming through the green. The hint of a shimmer off the sea. My bare feet upon tough driftwood some distant person has nailed to this old tree. People pass by us by mere feet, not knowing we lurk amoung the ivy. The road is only feet away but it feels like I am miles away from anything, we could be on a deserted island. The brezze off the water brings strange thoughts, the slight whisper of the leaves telling me their stories. Discussion of small things, like the true identity of the tree in which we sit, when deeper meaning runs through everything. Summer is here...