Aching

How does it happen that you can forget about the sun?
How can you find yourself standing still dew wet grass
midday
late August
stiff nipples in the shade
But in that forgotten sun absolved woes.

Opportunistic bug climbs up your bare foot for a dry and warm vantage
just like you
leaning head on hands on shoulder high soaked wood fence
north east corner of your section between the neighbour’s hollowstone block garage wall
massive fir
houses
all hemming you to three square metres of focussed sun
That’s your vantage
your back still turned to the sun.

But your ears slowly open:
Birdsong, the chatter of Sparrow
Wingsong, the gush of Tui flight
Roadsong, the whoosh of traffic
Tradesong the scrape of a bricky’s trowel

Too, your nose slowly opens:
Wet, mould, mildew, lichen, alike
Earliest Magnolia bud, last Camellia
Jasmine carried on the startling zephyr, freezing reminder
Lemon lolling on its stem
Pine.

Soft

Such softness in everything.

How did it happen that you forgot about that sun?
How did you find yourself leaning on that fence
midday
late August
heart growing
recondite soul rekindled
Mean hunch of winter rescinded.