I was reclined on the long chair in my backyard, legs up, head back, perfectly comfortable. Shortly after midnight.

A cool breeze drifting through. The only sound was the leaves: my plants and trees dancing in the dark. The sky was clear, the stars bright, the moon luminous. I was feeling free with a master key, opening hearts.

The perfect hour to write.

My pen touched paper. I was about to form the first word when a sharp sting pierced the tender skin between my little and ring fingers.

A needle in the silence.

A distraction, uninvited, discordant.
A rhythm, a vibration, a frequency out of harmony. The song was interrupted.

I had been present. Now I am here instead: recalling, reliving a moment already past, writing about what just happened.

Enough.