It’s a summer morning. You open the doors to the patio and the sun floods the whole house.

You water the garden plants. The water wets your bare feet on the stone, washing away your thoughts.

You eat raspberries, carefully picked from among the thorns, soft in your mouth like velvet, the warm sun licking your hands.

When winter arrives and the sun can no longer peek over the wall, it will be good to light the fire and listen to it crackle…

But now, another sound pierces the sun’s fire, awakens your gaze and draws it like a magnet to the blue canopy of a tree: it’s the wet song of a bird, a happy splashing on the cool morning stone.