A Perfect Day

A woman takes stock in this poignant short story by Annie Harris.

- Annie Harris

I SAT up in bed, sipping the mug of cocoa, warm and comforting, and thought back over the day, smiling to myself. A perfect day. That was what I had wanted, and it was what I’d achieved . . .

This morning, I wake early, coming wide awake with a jump. In the bedroom it’s still dark, but when I draw back the curtains the room is filled with the pearly light of an early May dawn. I open the window and kneel down, my elbows on the sill – and wait.

Almost at once, I hear the – my – blackbird’s first sleepy twitter. He’s lived in the garden all winter and now it’s his private domain, and woe betide any other male blackbird sneaking in.

There’s silence for a moment, then, as if he’s taken a deep breath and stood on tiptoe, his magical song fills the garden.

I catch the scent of the rose which has climbed up to my window, my favourite Lady Hillingdon. I see a bud just within arm’s reach, so I pick it. It’s perfect, just as I want everything to be today.

I know I won’t go back to sleep so I go downstairs, make a pot of tea and sit on the old seat by the back door. There’s a pink and blue tinge to the sky and it’s going to be a perfect spring day.

It’s just light enough for me to see there’s a text message on my phone. It’s from my oldest friend, Sue, who lives in the nearby town.