Listen.

Upon opening the front door, I heard a robin singing while the soothing and warm evening air swirled around me and caused me to close my eyes and breathe in and just listen. An almost perfect evening atmosphere. The kind where a walk is necessary. The kind where sitting in the garden and just... sitting... and listening, really listening to the myriad sounds, is the best and easiest thing to do, like a kind of meditation.

I listened to the oddly comforting rhythmic clunking of trains on their tracks, the gentlest breeze whispering through the sparsely-leaved trees, a blackbird singing its cheerfully fluid song.

No coat. No blanket. (Yet.)

Just sitting.

And listening.

And (just) being.