Listening for the Birds

It had been one of those years, not quite what she had expected and little of what she had known. Usually she saved the spring clean to, well, spring but something stirred within her which caused her hands to twitch with restlessness. So she had tidied the house from top to bottom, she wasn't particularly tidy, not like the harvest mice who would weave anything that stood still long enough into their homes. After all living deep in the earth does require the ability to overlook the odd cobweb or two but it felt good to have things prepared. It had taken her a good week to clean it all properly, washing down the inside of the preserve pantry took up most of those days. The evenings had even seen her sat by the fire waxing her wooden spoons with sweet supplies from Mellifera the bee. 

She had just stood up from washing the last of the kitchen floor, her back beginning to ache. She wasn't old but neither was she young and she was glad to have finished. The grey skies sent a chill around her home and she could smell snow in the air. Gently she poured the steaming water into her favourite mug, took her cloak from the back of the chair and shuffled into her old slippers. Opening the back door the breeze blew, she lifted her head listening for her friends the birds who always sang so beautifully regardless of how her heart felt. The wood pigeons kissed in the bare branches as she sighed with gratitude into the cold, her breath mixing with the steam and off out into a winters afternoon.

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