Wednesday, 10 July 2013

Bats swoop

It's darker now than it has been,
despite the heat of the day.
It's darker, now, tonight.
Bats swoop and glide overhead.
Tiny pipistrelles, a summer glide,
trailing glimpses of autumn and halloween. It's darker now.
My mother's capacity for love
is greater than mine has ever been.
My father's, less, I think.
Bats swoop.
Worked late again.
Bats swoop.
Meant to go swimming.
Bats swoop.
But things came up.

Saturday, 6 July 2013

The pond is full of tiny frogs

hundreds, clamouring over each other, the size of a fingernail, but if you lift them out, hop! Back they jump.

The swallows swoop and chirp, fly to and from their nests over our heads.

And as daylight finally fades, we sit out, glad now of the blanket, and watch the last bits of colour fade to black.