Still grows the dog rose

9 am

open the windows wide

let July breathe her warm air

over me.

Are we really be half way

through this year already?

I have days circled to

celebrate .

Quiet and soft days

when I'll pretend to

be Daphne Du Maurier

walking along the

Cornish coast,

my bag full of her books.

This summer is still young.

Still grows the dog rose,

and

those

days

that wait,

for

us