Last front house sun days –

Manipulating the ants ~

Clear generations.

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Picking blackberries –

Against the fading grey light ~

Can’t tell black from red.

Picking blackberries –

Eventually lose count ~

Ten thousand black globes.

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‘Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness…’

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My Mom, so funny –

With her cozy sausage rolls ~

Granite foundation.

New time at the beach ~

Notice hand arm hairs are white ~

The waves still come in.

Birdsong, wind in leaves ~

Aware of one’s own breathing ~

Blueberries in gin.

Sneezing while peeing –

Thinking that it’s just as well ~

I was sitting down.

Ground soaking up rain –

Except where I left buckets ~

Signs of New Normal.

A scythe, a whisper –

Tugged up onto the thermals ~

Slow spiral descent.

Explaining prime numbers-

Daughter interrupts ~

Drags me back down the hill.

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