Bees nimble along the rows of idle flowers
Blowing needlessly
Your hair tousled in a tulip – a daringly close shade of red.
Trees bow to an unkempt lawn but kempt enough for a tumble
or the sight of a cat's tail radio masting along its white-green fringe.
Breakfasts and barbecues happen under the warm gaze of an apple tree, blossom-tipped, ripe or stark as the season dictates.
We relate – here
We break – here
And in your absence I'm consoled
that whatever pictures pass
On this storied patch of grass
- That speaks of us
makes the air reak of us -
That it remains perfect whether we fade or blush
or move away
It will stay.
And breathe.
Streaming pregnancy.
Plump with the ultimate expectation
That nothing very much is going to happen which it hasn't seen before
Or hasn't been before
Or isn't being now in it's dynamic, floating, growing, grounded
Stillness
It wills us to do the same
To love the rain,
Be blessed by sun
To be at one
Not apart yet true to each of our parts
To make every leaving a greeting
An endless flow
Of teary hellos
complementing and abiding
Receiving and reviving
Your cat can take my mouse but I've got a little burr
to nestle in its fur
that'll be planted deep by autumn
By which time I'll be back in the orchard
Quietly forgetting as rotten apples smear my hands
That it was you who brought me here
Who gave me to the land.
