to have lived a life

never loved by those most loved

yearning for a call

leaves already turning

dark green and brown-flecked

a cool wind blowing

silver green and gold

forest weavers trailing leaves

tapestries of light

dead white trees stand tall

as creepers creep and light flees

from the deepest woods

eyes still shiny bright

dead bee in a flower’s heart

cradled through the storm

following a drought

lightening bursts from darkling skies

the scent of wet earth

in the old churchyard

we sit in meditation

ancient trees commune

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