wake to the congregated sky as it's torn asunder by pink light in a band. i watch its movement, touch it's face, stick my hand up in the air. the day begins, the drive, the flicker of thought leaves my mind by zen discipline, by ease and electra-glided flow, i blink out of existence, everywhere and nowhere for some peace and a cold hard shot at tranquillity.
when the synaptic kick in i hit the ground, muscles do their work, physicality becomes clear.
spring will be upon us soon, my tasks involve building a perimeter, i think in terms of stone, large sandstone blocks would be good, but also the idea of tall grass, ferns and tropical plants. i see it in my minds eye, after the tree carnage i am left exposed. does a man hear a tree fall, the answer is yes, i heard them fall, i felt them fall. the shock hit me hard, although fallen myself, i staggered down for my coffee with the birds only to find the barbarians had levelled the whole bushland behind me. two days later i'm still in shock, such carnage, my bird friends are spooked, they want answers i have not got.
i feed them and ponder my immediate problem, security. mission control is left vulnerably exposed. 
i can see myself in the garden for the next three days digging up dirt, planting trees and manicuring a perimeter. 
the idea depresses me at first, i rather just read plus i have a book to finish, but i must face the task. the task is my reluctant priority.
pan looks up at me, he knows the score. he is old now, slowed down so much it's quite a shock for me, he no longer even wants to come anywhere with me, his world revolves around laying in the sun and dreaming, food and water. i feel a scene of time edging it's way in to our soft lives, pan and i, two lone travellers thrown together by fate, a strange relationship, that this beautiful creature should love me so completely, that my birds come and visit us, the reptiles run down my path, the fish swim towards me. i am francis of assisi, a solider returned from war, not a good man, not a bad man.
the carpet of cloud blanketing the sky has dissipated, everything awash with coordinated blue. 
the fabrics are sewn, the song is sweet, the time is now.