This Morning - Trudie Shannon

A cool fresh morning, the sun glints playfully upon the water.
The tide is on the turn, has run out of energy,
Cannot bear to leave the Mother sea for too long.
A breeze passes, creates ripples, then comes to rest,
Momentarily earthbound, in the blossom laden mimosa tree.
The blooms turn every which way to hold it,
But all too quickly, it has untangled itself, and continued on its way,
Hushing up the hillside field, taking the sweet mimosa scent with it.
Cauliflower stumps lay exposed, their few remaining leaves
Soured brown and starting to rot.
Soon, everything will be folded over neatly by the plough
And sent back into the dark earth.
Wintering geese float languidly upon the outgoing tide,
Stopping from time to time, as the water eddies beside reeds and grass,
They eat, savour, then continue the retreat as the tide dictates.
A clock tick tocks in the kitchen
A different language to that of nature outside of these four manmade walls
Which moves on lunar heartbeats,
To its own secular rhythm.

Trudie Shannon