Early morning. Gentle light. If you lie on the wet grass (because you’re ten, and you’ve sneaked out early, and you want to), the dew makes every blade shine, a silver-green forest. Lie quietly, and watch the light and shadows moving slowly.
The cicadas sing. Your eyes start to see movement among the grass, ants, busy, bustling. It smells fresh, green, this early morning grass. A kookaburra laughs, high above, and a screeching swoop of cockatoos fly over.
Today is the piano exam. Maybe you should be practising. For now, this is peaceful, and something to remember when the panic rises.