In our showery garden, England, early June,
a put-your-feet-up sort of afternoon…
But we’re working hard to fill the yard
with all of our back room.
We’ll manage this clear out to perfection,
to do before precipitation
weakens our determination.
Pick up stuff, pack up stuff,
ponder, put it back perhaps?
Different pathways came together
bringing gifts of our endeavour,
soon the house was full to tipping…
We’ll take some time for contemplation,
not shrugging off or moving on,
but taking stock and making strong.
Scrap an item, save an item,
wonder, fill the bin, collapse!
A merry-busy-fruitful afternoon,
in our showery garden, England, early June.
wafers for Snow Queen banquets.
Draughts whisper treason.
On this dozing cosy cricket listening afternoon
first fire comforts soft summer bones
hot steaming apple licks our fingers
and spicy pie conversation draws close
to contemplate hibernation.
In our English country garden
morning arrives for breakfast
clothed in misty vagueness
to find arachnid market traders
already skilfully threading
silver baskets between bushes where
a snail’s early yawning turns the head
of a song thrush hoarse from dawn
dew drying in the wan sun smiling
weakly at Fuchsia drunk on rich ruby pallet
who bow to orange Montbretia and ageing
Buddleia bracing itself for the arrival
of those blooming butterfly and bee
bounders regardless of a definite
chill we sit thin jacketed drinking
coffee and eating bread spread
with cherry plum jam ruminating
on the day ahead and the need for
autumn preparation and repair.