...And I Love...

Making hay while the sun shines

…And I Love…

…And I love
that the sun shines again today
as yesterday and the day before,
hot enough for discomfort.
I will not complain.
Isn’t this what we longed for
through that long winter of rain?...

…And I love
my big new cotton dress 
that billows a breeze where I go,
fitted loose to let the sweat
trickle the length of my back.
Ladies don’t sweat, my mother says,
We glow. And I glow like a pig...

…And I love
that our pace has no choice but to slow,
that salad will do for lunch again,
that socks and shoes are superfluous,
jackets and duvets too.
Even our house seems to become
an encumbrance we barely need...

…And I love
the yellowed grass and dust
that call to mind past holidays,
that the lawn is made a bed of straw
for afternoon naps in warm shade.
The siesta season here is short,
our plans can be delayed...

…And I love
that when the rain returns
grass will turn fresh green again
almost as soon as it hits the ground
and we will all be glad.
Meanwhile mallow and marjoram thrive,
attract a buzzing hive...

…And I love
the plump ungainly couple
of grey-green-purple wood pigeons
clumsily making more wood pigeons
as they flap on the roof next door.
They break their unceremonious bond
to take a drink from our pond...

…And I love
that the fledgling sparrows chose
our garden for their flying school,
that the iron arch across the path
is a perfect perch from which to launch
instinctive training flights.
Later they take a dust bath...

…And I love
the scarlet flashes of flowers
among the winding vines that climb
and wave above the bean canes.
The sparrows have found them a delicacy,
which I mind, but then remind myself
there are beans enough to go round...

…And I love
that my grandpa tilled the land,
sowed three peas for every plant
he planned to raise: One for the birds, 
one for the mice and one for us, he explained.
I thought he had Nature at his command
though it was the other way round...

…And I love
that the ailing ash we felled
reluctantly, on expert advice, 
refuses to accept such fate,
though logs are stored for winter.
It grows new shoots from a healthy base
with born-again zeal and vigour...

…And I love
with fierce intensity
to watch the children of our children
play all day in a sun-kissed garden
as happily as they play in rain.
The sunflowers they have grown from seed
tower over them now...

…And I love
that, come whatever may,
these days cannot be taken away.
Through this brief spell when morning dawns
forecast with bright certainty,
we may forget how winter feels
as we refuel with sunlight...

…And I love
that the friend we buried today
bathed in light to find her way,
did not see death as the end.
Pained, we spoke of meeting again, 
of legacy, of eternity
and after the sun, the rain.