Toenails freshly pink, washing on the line held by the last
of the pegs, apricots the colour that can only be called
apricot (perfect for picking but rotten by noon). Bees sip
the lavender, the dog has – after a small performance –
swallowed her pill, the girls are up at last cracking eggs
for pancakes. Ian’s making coffee. Blitz of the grinder,
chuckle of fledglings on the roof wanting breakfast – one
being taught how to fly – an asterisk of a cloud dissolving
in the time it takes to walk to the compost bin. Summer
here – a held – breath – Now a thousand trees
exhale – now the deep greening that sussurates, resuscitates
– this! pixilated sunlight – leaves startled into silver.
Another one from The Tenderness of Light (see previous post). For more Tuesday Poems go to our excellent hub at www.tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com. Cheers!