Keys

Presents and feasting and company later.

Here, first awake in the house, I sneak myself downstairs to play with words which are always my favourite toys. If this seems a trivial thing to say, you have misunderstood the art of playing.

Three chocolates slip into my mouth, longing to melt. Coffee keeps the sweetness in check.

Smells like a coffeehouse: pithy, pungent first brew.

Starling song and choral harmony and footsteps next door I hear.

Letter squares on my keyboard, set out in a grid like the table of elements; beyond this, the washing that still needs drying but is tucked back from the centre, the snoozing dog who knows I have the wrong socks on for walking, from twin windows, the sky so soft, gauzy rain falling. Gloss of wet ivy on the fat trunked ash, this is what I see.

Under fingertips, these smoothed well-worn keys. All the words waiting to be unlocked. This is what I feel.

Unlocked or unwrapped?

The strongest magic is in the sharing. This too I feel. Fingers on the keys find the best phrase: Thank you.