In the sun-teased space
beset by fellside breezes
the trees a swaying circle
grown from my aunt’s bequest:
tall cedars break the wind;
for colour poplar, oak, blue spruce;
I hang out different blessings
on waiting washing lines.
I call them blessings now
because of an epiphany
when I was full of grumps
at being importuned
to do this now and then do that;
begrudging, but I did because
the clothes do have to dry;
and yes, the air outside is free.
So there I stood, clothes-
peg in hand, as flashing
swallows darted under
nimbus clouds and bright blue sky —
while life went on, as still it does
within forgiving houses up and
down the ancient valley —
coaxing out a smile.
Biome NE47 