Pebble

When I held out my hand
I expected nothing
But to help you cross the stream.

When we crossed the stream
I expected nothing
Yet you gave me a smooth, shiny pebble,
As if you had considered for some time
What would give me joy.

At dusk, when a cool breeze whisked
The river’s edge,
the pebble still warm in my hand,
You put a pretty shawl around my shoulders
And I gave you only a smile.

Slovenia

Serve me a Slovenian palette and I will fashion you a smile.
Life flows easy where laughter tips lips and lilts in softest sunlight,
opening doors in slippered feet.

Vernacular rolls like sweet cherries,
Edible sounds mixed and harmonised,
Nurtured in leafy groves,
then gathered in garden baskets filled with flowers, all bright and tender.