Friday Afternoon:
In daylight, I saw the owl. White, the colour of ghosts and beginnings; deep in purpose, flying over a road.
Tired, I was, but in warm clothes. The sky was rinsed blue, the roads wet.
How the old car still rolls is mysterious.
But, there I was, driving rust through road-spray, struck admirably dumb.
Saturday Afternoon:
Rain span out from the edge of a storm.
From inside my polytunnel bubble I hear it.
I am smiling, tidying up, making ready.
My running shoes mud-sodden, left on the porch step. My legs feel good.
Earth browned hands untangle roots.
Here and there budlets burst from a stem.
Here: peeping from a pot, the pretty faces of winter pansies.
In daylight, I saw the owl. White, the colour of ghosts and beginnings; deep in purpose, flying over a road.
Tired, I was, but in warm clothes. The sky was rinsed blue, the roads wet.
How the old car still rolls is mysterious.
But, there I was, driving rust through road-spray, struck admirably dumb.
Saturday Afternoon:
Rain span out from the edge of a storm.
From inside my polytunnel bubble I hear it.
I am smiling, tidying up, making ready.
My running shoes mud-sodden, left on the porch step. My legs feel good.
Earth browned hands untangle roots.
Here and there budlets burst from a stem.
Here: peeping from a pot, the pretty faces of winter pansies.
Put into my pocket rich leaves for soup.
Call me when it's ready. (smile)
ReplyDeleteNice polytunnel bubble.
Errr... all gone! Which is testament to the yumminess...
ReplyDeleteI love my polytunnel. A space of honest, inventive work. And ingredients for plenty more soup :-)