Watching a tui

make its way along a thin branch

I sit

on the front door step

with my feet on the welcome mat


The blue sky, on first look

is empty, is empty,

but closing one eye

might reveal a far off full cloud

a progression of bees going about their business,

a hawk, catching that first warm

updrift of the morning


And there also, a pale embarrassed moon

just a quarter of its full self

but a repeated promise, in the day

to return, to return


The air, gently scented with the last wisps of smoke from winter fires

the new lavender

freshly turned earth in the vegetable garden


The cat at my feet, rolling, arches her back

exposes her white belly to the sun

and I think about

putting some washing on the line

for the first time in months

Or maybe

facing the blank page


No words will really tell

this moment, this moment

stretched with possibility

aching, buoyant,

lit up

like a bee in sunlight.


I recorded it, you can have a listen. (Probably turn your speakers up, I’m quiet).

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