April 23, 2011
It’s late on Easter Saturday night and I’ve just painted some boiled eggs just as my mum used to do, ready for Sunday breakfast.
At breakfast time 25 years ago my body flicked the automatic switch that heralded the delivery into the outside world of my second beautiful son. Now he is 6′ 7″ and I wonder how this feat was possible.
That babe, so new and filled with his own kind of wonder, is still in the man.
There’s so much to wonder about in all of this, and I’m grateful for it all.
April 19, 2011
A flock, a gaggling squawking bunch of birds,
the sound coming closer across the sea of sky ahead.
They come towards me sitting there at Mum’s back door
eating toast drinking coffee on this quiet Sunday morning.
They flash and flutter, wheeling in unison
then disperse then gather again.
Is this Hitchcock’s dream?
Arguing at high volume
checking positions or deciding where to land
or maybe exclaiming delight for the view
they dance over me and around and away.
The noise fades and I see at last
they are flashing jewels, confetti, a celebration.