After a week of illness, a long weekend near the sea. I sit in the garden, strawberries and a cup of tea nearby. The clouds are slowly burning away but for now the air is cool.
Two cardinals fly from one side of the garden to the other, swooping low under the canopy of the trees. Moments later, here they are again.
They perch in the bush, feathers the color of weathered New England barns.
One bird darts away. The other immediately begins to sing. He flies deeper into the bush. Higher but a place I cannot see as well. He repeats his song.
Within moments, the first bird returns and sings his arrival.
When they have finished their reunion, they return to their game. One following the other in close proximity, they fly to the far side of the garden.
Out at sea, the sun begins to sparkle off the waves.