Some days are not for conquering.
They start out too early – meeting deadlines,
deflate to the dish-washing imperative
then collapse into mid-morning sleep, a
willing submission to sweet oblivion.
Mad rush to a luncheon outing;
accept the kindness, community is kind;
community is obligation too:
A stroll with old folk on sunny-day
country lanes after days of rain.
Low stone walls, wind in the carob trees
strums a different tune to the one
hummed by the olive groves, soft as their
overripe fruit underfoot; pleasant dung
of grazing sheep is the mild surprise.
Cool ears, flushed faces
eating chestnuts, funny things,
though quite sweet, if you don’t know.
Southern skies, where are you now,
on this my day from nowhere?
Old ladies do tell the dirtiest jokes.
©Allison Wright, 2012