YOU HAVE NO COMPETITION DEAR

Those very few and very brief moments... when the gaze outside the window shows a very near undulating hill; both dark and brooding against the lighter backdrop of a pale sky, just - just before dawn: Precious time.

The sound of early morning birds... even in the midst of a bitter winter finding something to jest about; their chirps breaking through the cluttering clatter of further away traffic - the illusion continuing: A hill. Some birds.

As the yet to rise sun casts thin fingers of light... wisps of clouds turn into light-gold streaks... the hill starts to take form; I can see sharp ridges now - shapes a little more defined: Still a hill though.

It's going to rain... I want to smell the essence of wet earth, parched ground emitting that most welcome odor of fat juicy raindrops splattering; myriad raindrops breaking the toughened topsoil and seeping - trickling deep to join the groundwater below: The reservoir of life.

Darker clouds gather now... The sky itself hued and the clouds mere drifting grey forms; the hill transforming into twin rooftops - newly placed tiles glistening with morning dew: My hill is gone.

The birds have stopped their song... They - like me - see no more purpose to their twitter; and the rain is but fine mist - not at all quenching, nor disguising the wafts of suburban living: Rubbish collection day.

Enough light to read the writing on the wall now... Words sent few days ago, worthy of every Wordsmith ever worshipped; my eyes constantly hovering - for I dare not believe their essence: Someone loves me.

What did I do to deserve you dear... You gave me life, and these very few and brief moments I traipse somewhere in the Highlands; walking beside you as we trace the history of others trodden before us - exploring why this state of being has no real competition for if it did, we'd both be in the grips of some senile dementia: Hallucinating.