The morning shower –

A slight pause for reflection ~

Warm rain on the ear.


Some hands know the soil.
They know what to do with it.
They’re not fine hands, clean hands, they’re rough and thick fingered and calloused but they bring life out of the black and keep a kind of order on the land.
They give firm handshakes.
And hold grandchildren carefully like they hold a china tea cup or a fragile flower.

(For Bob, who knew the land and its people well, RIP).



At rest, in silence –

Coming out of the tunnel ~

The tiniest stone.

Fat snowflakes falling –

A top floor nightclub lit up ~

A city’s flurries.

Delicious rain –

As long as you are inside ~

Watching the fireworks.


Crows of Pristina

Oversee new cathedral ~

Excited chatter.



Walking down the street –
Girls stop and say ‘beautiful!’ ~
To my sunflowers. 

A good book outside –
Tiny flies sticking to it ~
Unable to move.

Squishy blackberries 
The Púca has defiled them ~
Leave them for the birds.

Small innocent beasts –
All set to kill already ~
Purring on my lap. 

Two kittens sleeping –
Smiling and kicking in dreams ~
Little raptor claws. 

Stroking kitten ears –
Collagen shell shaped beauty ~  
Ignores the TV.

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