The nattering and chattering of birdsong surrounding me as I sit beneath the cover of the Monterey Pine, sipping my morning coffee, thinking about how everything seemed to flow too fast yesterday, today trying to capture my calm as if it were a fish and I need only cast my line into the brook to snag it. The air, cool with the morning wetness, the sun not yet fully awake behind the white duvet of clouds shielding it from hiuman follies. I too sit protected, sanctuaried away from all that, as if in a cloister communing just among the birds and the hustle-rustle of spring leaves dying to be born on newfound branches.