Window open…

It was a warm evening last night.

I could hear the sound of wine bottles clinking against glasses as people barbecue partied in their back yards. Further up another group were singing happy birthday, the sounds of children’s laughter tinkling like music in the evening air.

The young woman across the way, the one who wears red silk to bed, played her piano well and quietly, making real music, a background to the balmy night, something haunting and classical that I don’t know. Playing as the evening deepened, only stopping when the light had gone completely.

At the other end of the road I heard the sharp clack as one hard plastic bowl hit another, sending it skimming over the short green grass with a whoosh. Bowlers on their bowling green despite the real estate value of the neatly edged square of manicured grass. Murmured shouts of approval and gentle claps each time a good bowl was made.

And insect hunting swifts crying their shrill song high above, higher still the buzz of planes off to goodness knows where without me.

Warm and balmy, kitchen window open, I sat and listened to the world outside as my radio related its tales

Apart.
Alone.
But with rich red wine, I didn’t mind.

The window will be closed for winter soon.