Watching a tui<\/p>\n
make its way along a thin branch<\/p>\n
I sit<\/p>\n
on the front door step<\/p>\n
with my feet on the welcome mat<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The blue sky, on first look<\/p>\n
is empty, is empty,<\/p>\n
but closing one eye<\/p>\n
might reveal a far off full cloud<\/p>\n
a progression of bees going about their business,<\/p>\n
a hawk, catching that first warm<\/p>\n
updrift of the morning<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
And there also, a pale embarrassed moon<\/p>\n
just a quarter of its full self<\/p>\n
but a repeated promise, in the day<\/p>\n
to return, to return<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The air, gently scented with the last wisps of smoke from winter fires<\/p>\n
the new lavender<\/p>\n
freshly turned earth in the vegetable garden<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The cat at my feet, rolling, arches her back<\/p>\n
exposes her white belly to the sun<\/p>\n
and I think about<\/p>\n
putting some washing on the line<\/p>\n
for the first time in months<\/p>\n
Or maybe<\/p>\n
facing the blank page<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
No words will really tell<\/p>\n
this moment, this moment<\/p>\n
stretched with possibility<\/p>\n
aching, buoyant,<\/p>\n
lit up<\/p>\n
like a bee in sunlight.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
I recorded it, you can have a listen<\/a>. (Probably turn your speakers up, I’m quiet).<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"