:: Gratitude ::

Humid nights

and sun stained days.

Bicycles and inkwells of words.

I'm always writing in my head .

And while on the subject of being on our bikes, aromas.

The aroma of other lives ~::~ women behind doors baking bread for tea

I imagine they do it for us, to fill us with joy as we cycle past

but this is just my fancy.

Life

flavoured with church bells

and books

Thinking back and stuffing our memory palaces to the brim

remembering the time we saw the Mona Lisa in Paris

and I,

behind a sea of heads

imagined she was smiling just at me.

These days of beauty

( far beyond my comprehension at times)

and gratitude

for the nights when my book falls from the bed

onto the waiting wooden floor.

Where the scent of summer candles wafts in and out of the rooms

like beautiful, long forgotten ghosts.

Somewhere in this house my husband,

listening to Bryn Terfel and the glorious Angela Gheorghiu 

that heavenly choir!

:: Gratitude ::