Softness One robin chirps to the left of me; to my right -- beyond sight -- crow caws, one, maybe, two. And the softness time caught in the nearly still breeze as if, if rightly understood, where I am is where I am to be . . . that relationship of time and place and being where there is no other place to be once called paradise. I know how fleeting that is, how strong the stories of our urge to fall, our betrayal of whom we are and that other urge for redemption, reconciliation. But for now, the birds and the breeze and the softness of time is good enough for me.