Lavender

up and down the paths I brush against the lavender bushes
and carry the traces with me on my skin

Missing Jacob

his name on the back of a postcard
in a child's handwriting
somehow just the way he used to write it

kettles

seven kettles 
in various stages of decay
lined up against the fence
like memorials 
to all those moments
when a cup of tea 
was all you needed

late start

at 6 am cycle path users acknowledge the early hour with a brief nod
by seven thirty it's business as usual and no one meets your eye

Rain

A blackbird makes vociferous objection
to a sudden downpour.

gravity

as I waft the empty bag
infinitesimally tiny grains of flour float out
and drift down into the brass bowl of the weighing scales

ducks

all the other wildlife
skitters or flutters from my path
three ducks sit
unflustered and unperturbed

more snails

on damp mornings
I do a wide slalom along the path
to avoid the meandering snails

street lights

the street lights ahead of me switch off in sequence
fading to a faint orange glow

spring

purple crocuses bask in the warm morning sunshine

(or is that croci?)

cold

I button up tight 
but the icy gust 
inveigles it's way inside my coat

daughters tango

skirts swish to the rhythm
they sashay down the hall