July evening

Quarter past 9 at night.

In winter I would be inside,

Hiding in a blanket.

Curtains drawn against the dark.


But it is July.

I sit in the garden,

Watching the clouds turn from 

Pink to orange to peach.

I see bees still working,

While a noisy sparrow flies

Into its roof-nest.


The apples are changing

from green to rosy red.

Roses climb overhead.

Slugs grow fat on juicy grass,

And honeysuckle scent

Bathes in the warm air.

8 July 2021

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