I came home in the middle of the day, nobody home but me. The snowdrops in the back yard were a surpliced choir bowing their heads in prayer, the camellia flowering still like crazy. Spring in the soft soft air I turned my face skyward to peg the washing and thoughtΒ Β this is our home. Quiet now, as we were quiet last night silently reading, gently letting our anxious words fall away, and later I played, for your ears alone, in the next room a Venezuelan dance, caressing the strings of the instrument that still holds my heart as I know you hold mine