I sit
Perched on the old bench
Listening to the water
Dance on its way to the coast
Watch the silver sparkle in the light
Listen and breathe and be
Face turned to the light
Unfurling to the sun
Opening to the future
With hope
That warmth may follow warmth
Into depths of days
And blanket of night embrace
With love and delight
Year turns end on end
Promise lies waiting
As I walk
With hushed expectancy
Pondering the dawn
Of the new year
The autumn sun emerges from behind the clouds
Sending shafts of sunlight to play in the garden
While the dry patch lasts
I head into the garden
To harvest the last of the tatties
They emerge from the ground
Precious jewels of the earth
Tumbled into the bucket
I stand
Admiring God’s work
And in a tree
A blackbird starts to sing.
NB : For those who aren’t used to English slang – ‘tatties’ are another word for potatoes.
At the side of the path
The bench invites me to sit
To soak in the calm
Listen to the wind
Rustling in the autumn leaves
Watch the play of sun
On the ground
And be
Just be
I blink
And before I stop to pause
The summer has been and gone
I stroll along the river bank
Wild grasses dance in the breeze as I pass
Bleached white by the sun and the wind
Leaves rustle overhead
Edges painted the first fiery tint of autumn
And the river rushes by
Heading at full pace into the future
Sat on a log
Listening to the quiet
Breeze lifting the leaves into a rustling dance
Sound of a pheasant calling in the distance
Water ripples along, hidden from view
Insects buzz past, on a secret mission
And in the tree above
A blackbird sings in celebration
The early sun lights the grass. Amber leaves wave in the morning breeze, bronzed by the cold. Frost crunches beneath my feet, and the winter-fresh air brings colour to cheeks and nose.
