Fragrant lilacs. The song of red-winged blackbirds. A calm evening to soak myself in my flower gardens.
And a small birdhouse by the shed door, with a brood of chick-a-dees inside, cheeping and making a big fuss, while Momma-a-dee and Papa-a-dee flitter around finding worms (my roses thank you, my raspberries thank you, my lupines thank you…). They perch on the branch of a climbing rose to make sure the coast is clear before going inside to feed their babies.