Outside, it is spitting - raining, but not really. 4 degrees Celsius. Gumboots with jeans tucked in. Old Navy raincoat and emerald green plastic gloves. High-neck sandbar coloured sweater, cozy.
I'm washing the car of all things. Hose in hand, sponge in other, singing some long forgotten song I once heard on 8-track in the station wagon (with wood panelling) while coming back numb from soccer practice. A Scottish marching band tune, I believe.
Then, I realize the bush down the street is singing along with me. It's making a heck of a lot of noise. Or should I say, I lot of little noises, rising into a chirping frenzy.
I drop the sponge, walk on down...slowly... push back the bush...slowly... and poke my misty glasses into darkness. The chirping continues, a bit quieter from my presence.
A chickadee flitters out and lands on a branch close to me. Cocks its head, and flies back it the chickadee forest.
My neighbour from down the alley walks by me. This must look odd, I think to myself, my head pushed in the bush. She just smiles and says, nice day. Yup, I say back, sure is.