I sit on the graveyard fence and watch a magpie pick in the litter of autumn leaves. Part of me wonders what happened in the blur between leaving my house and getting here but I dispel it and enjoy the peacefulness that hangs in the air around me. I can see it like a film enveloping everything, not smothering but drifting so that if I reach out a hand it would tear between my fingers. The magpie squawks and the sound is bright blue and ripples through the film, pushing it out and around the noise. The grass is the kind of green that only appears on happy days, with small brave flowers blooming and swaying in the wind. They catch me and send tiny chimes in my mind, like a little private symphony. 

Behind me a gate clicks shut and the peaceful film retracts slightly , as if scared of the intruder. I don't have to look around to know its Charlie, and when he speaks the musical sound of his voice is as familiar as the lilting of my own. 

'It's bad today?' he asks, joining me at the fence. The magpie flies away and the sound of it's wings taking off seems bright and golden before my eyes. Its not bad, not here.

Charlie knows my silence and doesn't ask again, letting me continue living in this moment. He busies himself picking some of the chiming flowers instead. Bluebells. 

25/05/15 - Skyla