following a drought

lightening bursts from darkling skies

the scent of wet earth

in the old churchyard

we sit in meditation

ancient trees look on

oh what a clamour

from tiny throats, two wrens shout,

a cat in retreat

nights too hot for love

waking in sweat-tangled sheets

longing for the rain

the summer garden

a snail serrating fresh leaves

an artist at work

stupefying heat

I watch geraniums grow

a snail labours on

folk chat while dogs play

an old graveyard, crumbling stones

ten thousand souls sleep

amongst seven hills

the rumbling of industry

the sweet songs of birds

grasp the baton fast

the clown laughs behind his mask.

pass it on, your call