Fly Away Home

Home, where the heart lies

Home, where does my heart lay?

In gold days, purple twilights

and soft, fresh cut hay, birdsongs

Tilly hats and lemonade in plastic cups

and linen on the washing line

doors open, sun soaking through

the cracks and clouds and petrichor.

Rotting abundance of fruit in the summertime

and wasps, collected, humming, dancing

Butterflies flittering past, hornets and bees

and mosquito, sun cream, laughter

heat, sweating, fanning, paddling

ice and pizza breads, herbs

the scent of mown grass on the compost heap

and the never ending summer days.

(2nd November 2013)