I recently joined Gabrielle Idlet’s Writing group. This piece is from a ten minute writing exercise with a prompt.

Writers group prompt: describe your day from the viewpoint of a bird.

I like that you notice me when I sing the sun awake. I hear your foot steps as you flick on the lights, then tap on your keyboard. The running water changes sound as you fill the teapot and then make it sing. The teapot and I both serenade you.

I wait close by as you swing open the screen door, take in the morning, and peruse the deck. Your eyes stroke your flowers. I never know if you will water the containers or the garden bed first. I turn towards you as I hear the first burst of rushing water out of the garden hose. My eyes dart to the water droplet’s sun catching display. I flutter from tree to tree to be a part of the morning dance.

You go inside and come out with your daughter. You both sit at ease, no words at first, slowly a few tumble out mixing with the morning air. The cat too knows your rhythm and adds her own feline sleek movements.

After your linger, you are up. The screen door screeches open and thumps closed, open and closed. Eventually you two, mother and daughter, leave together. Shifting into reverse the white beast rolls down the steep driveway. Sometimes there’s a scraping noise where metal meets street, other mornings roll on soundless, smoother.

The boxy beast brings you back and forth repeatedly as the sun crosses the sky. Each time you return you touch and whisper to the plants before the screen door opens then thumps closed.

In the evening your pace is firmer on the deck. Your body more coordinated. Busily the dinner aromas then dishes come through the screen door and set on the eucalyptus wood slated table. Conversation is livelier; words more complete, silverware to dish clangs punctuate the day’s tales.

At the end, you and I both linger, tree gazing. We watch the air settle and greet the evening sky. And listen one for the other, song to heart, heart to song. I am here, I am here.