A dawn chorus of little wrens sitting
on a washing line, whistling into the breeze
a whole line of them just twittering
and the gentle hum of the honey bees.

The smell of freshly mown grass lingers
the intoxicating perfume of the rose
wriggly worms watching the bird singers
the upkeep of the summer garden shows.

The crack of a stem snapping from its main stem
dead-heading tired summer bedding plants
The whack of next doors football landing on them
and a nice cup of sweet tea made in advance.