Yield…. in every sense of the word, season of our gratitude for glut… yet also of surrender, this the time for offering up
hornswoggled by insomnia, stress swept from mind deep into muscles, so to creep downstairs, out into the garden, the soft summoning of dawn
clouds above, brown grey bellies, promising something of rain?
a bird infused soundscape, keening yelp of seagulls, the metronomic throb of a wood pigeons hoot
nearer, the more intimate chirrup of a family of sparrows, feather restless, scattered amongst the protective thorns (too many yard cats!) of an enormous Rose bush
clarion call of Red, pluck one tomato, roll around in the palm of hand. satisfaction. harvest.
tooth chomp, puncture flesh, the rush, ooze spurt of seed slobber sumptousness. yum
a leaf of mint, one of basil, bruise between fingers, olefactory contradiction, grok the befuddlement
oh, i just like writing words… my picture snap is fab, despite verging on the trite, bit like a gareth bale goal celebration! thankfully far from instagram perfect… but, ah me and my rotten tomato heart!
these the days through which we must kep one broom handles distance apart, it is hard to believe that anything will ever flow?
mind ponders, roams back, to what? a festival commonplace, but none the less cherished for that
hmm it is dusk, i pause and sit somewhere on the fringes, back against the trunk of an old beech tree, moist earth below, leaf shiver above
a friend wanders by, ‘the first stranger in the dusk’, she comes over, we chat, then long languish in each others arms
talk stream tumbles, whither and whence it will roam! gentleness the timbre of intimacy
with time we will part, the evening beckons adventure… but, forever tarry through the twilight
laughter, connection. simple, i am happy… yes, those days will come again
harvest…. Yield.