~
Magic
without a blink the spell is cast,
the unwary fall easily, happy to
drown in the magic of this place,
across thirty years, it’s the children’s
faces I remember most, children who
have been to this place and still recall
their coming, children who, now proud
parents, bring their own broods here
to watch them roam in clean country air
just being children once again,
~
Unwind
lazy Sunday, 36c, and a fawn takes a risk
to bounce quickly across the ‘set aside’
for denser cover, it is hunter’s day after all,
we listlessly graze in the shade of the
‘au vent’ watching the girls pearl dive
in the swimming pool for weighted sticks,
an occasional breeze, the tail end of last
night’s storm rushes through as if trying
to catch up its mother,
the evening sun is best, as the day folds up
its story like a drowsy bedtime book,
all around, nature exhales without the will
to complain about being tucked in
~
Little Owl
still, holding station on the corner pitch of
the old barn roof, with dawn inching lazily over
a rose-tinted horizon, she waits,
immobile gorgon eyes staring with keen
searchlight precision sweeping the hedgerow,
a patient poised predator, unhurried, intense,
but will she eat today
~
Coypu
beneath the mulberry tree in the reading chair
infrequent raindrops from last night’s shower
navigate the dense canopy and fall onto the back
of my hand as if trying to gain my attention,
it’s pleasing to see the coypus resettled here,
trundling around the edge of the garden
like grumpy octogenarians, unhurried
unless approached,
friends similarly bask, solving puzzles with
quizzical faces or quizzes with puzzled
expressions,
all is quiet
~
Meteor Memories
it’s the quiet hour none have yet stirred,
distant crows caw a feint raucous alarm,
sky the pale blue of shallow surf rinses
the parched landscape, a timid early
morning sun gives soft focus to this pastorale,
last night like sardines lined up on deck chairs
across the garden at midnight, we watched
the Perseids meteorite shower tear through an
unpolluted ‘starscape’, as one by one we shouted
there! there! over there! such cosmic magnificence
that made us realise our true place within it all
~
Nicole
like a breath of fresh air, she crosses the garden,
seventy if she’s a day and slim as a squirrel
the flower lady comes to tend the geraniums,
in colourful attire that would happily grace
a paddy field, tunic trousers, battered hat,
she quietly flits from pot to pot like a graceful
hummingbird delivering precious water,
succour to the crimson blooms
~
Janus Time
the middle of the holiday a relaxed week gone
too soon, the baking weather relaxes a cool Sunday
gives us time to exhale and take stock,
the second week will pass more quickly than the last,
I am forced to consider whether this will be my last
visit here, “il ne faut jamais dire jamais”
~
Basic Fare
the importance of the act cannot be overstated,
when the time is right one sits down like a connoisseur
to deliberate on a piece of perfectly baked artisanal
French bread and an ample slice of ripe Brie,
one approaches the task with the gravitas of the cigar
aficionado, first with the eyes, then the nose before
the much longed for ecstasy of tasting,
red wine should never be consumed during the very
first mouthful, as, although an agreeable companion
to the queen of cheese, the first mouthful should
be sacrosanct and eaten without wine
