As long as there is green grass, there is hope

This morning I woke to a flickering, tapping sound. My eyes creaked open to see the pearl-gray of first light seeping beneath the curtains. Everything looked as it should, but my ears still felt confused. Was that sound the scattering flight of birds? No, too rhythmic. Was it the settling sighs of our old house’s wooden joists? No, it was too consistent. Perhaps the clattering brush of branches…