At the window the blank of a day
edges up from an unseen horizon.
A sudden tang of air shoulders space away
opens a door to a place long forgotten
where scent seeded the rich red soil
burnt and burst colours into day
and carries them in arms of memory
Seedbank
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Two poemsTwo poems
A moment of unknowing I find my way to the bedand slowly nest myself between the sheetscareful not to awaken her sleep.Perhaps she dreams far from mewith people and places
A running problemA running problem
I like to run long-distance races nothing ultra, of course, a half-marathon is quite enough to put me through my paces, beyond that it's simply not much fun. Now, sadly,
When the lights go outWhen the lights go out
In comfort of rooms lit with white the people move together and apart to talk pleasure and sense in the evening’s company. But when the lights go out breath fractures,
“. . . scent seeded the rich red soil . . .”
Yes, more than anything, it is scents and aromas which can, in a trice, take me back to childhood. Woodsmoke is an especially evocative scent: I smell woodsmoke on the air (and it is winter here, and I often smell woodsmoke), and I remember with yearning the Africa of my childhood.