Weeding
Roots, shaking off earth,
glow white, like worms. I toss them,
dead, into the hedge.
***********
Gardening is a brutal affair sometimes.
Roots, shaking off earth,
glow white, like worms. I toss them,
dead, into the hedge.
***********
Gardening is a brutal affair sometimes.
A band playing jazz
under a tree in the rain –
drops weighting its leaves.
***********
They were about to get very wet.
Early summer rain
scatters rose petals and scents
of an eager earth.
********************
It’s been raining a lot here this week.
A tiny cyclist
head down, speeding. I move left
and bask in mum’s smile.
********************
Time to start writing again.
Still blue autumn day;
whispers of frost on the roof.
A red vine leaf falls.
Trembling willow leaves
alive to summer winds, fall
to winter’s first breath.
*******
Contemplating the willow tree in our garden.
Opening my blind
to frost-iced roof tiles, last night
lingers in the sun.
Summer oaks tremble
to music she summons with
delicate fingers.
From distant woods, leaves
rise like mist. Here, a sparrow
alights with a twig.
********
Possibly still under the influence of my visit to Japan.
Early spring morning.
At Haneda I buy
hand-printed fabrics.
*********
Leaving Japan, feeling sad. It is a lovely country full of welcoming people.
