Above me, the sky is painting in swirls of grey and white on a canvas of the brightest blue.

In the distance I hear the symphonies of Chopin and Strauss played upon the rustling leaves

and in the fields the gentle breeze plays catch-me-if-you-can, chasing itself among the hay,

While swallows gliding lazily hang suspended like puppets on strings we cannot see.

And me, I lay here dreaming flat on my back among the grass just watching dandelions grow.