Saturday was groceries then a walk Epping,Ongar,Finchingfield by car Reading book reviews and chewing stalks Buttercups and meadows,Henry Moore

Driving back from Chelmsford, cornfields flamed Smoke and fire and earth, the sun dismayed

Farmers working hard,the harvest, grain

The sky through mist a cobalt blue displayed Standon with its fords and wandering cows Little rivers,Essex, flowing down.

The Stort joins with the Lea,a gurglimg sound Water for the Thames and mossy ground

The earth feels like my body sacrificed

An artist’s canvas stretched , a matricide

I’ll meet you again on those small hills near Malaga

With the dried river bed  the wild flowers  the singing frogs with loud voices by the well

We’ll see the goat herd again

A small old man with wrinkled face and huge smile.

Will hear the little bells ringing again as to goats amble down the mountain

I can feel the warm air on my skin and the spaciousness of the world just across the road from the hotels.

When we’re young there is so much in front of us

And when we’re old there’s so much behind us

And I give thanks for it all what I remember and what I don’t remember

What you said and what you didn’t say and what you might have said.

But mostly we didn’t need to talk, the joy was apparent in our faces.

The beautiful world still there behind everything, behind the politics, the money  the lies, the power struggles

And money cannot buy these experiences nor improve our perception of this beautiful world

Now I’m breathing in that same warm air full of the perfume of the flowers

And I’m hearing the frogs croaking it as beautiful as the skylark’s song

Somewhere you are always with me as I remember these days so few yet so powerful.

Thank you for the world