- It is high summer the butterflies are dancing
in the garden,
Perfume wafts on the wings of a breeze from the rhododendrons.
Deep in shade, beneath the olive green leaves
Basques a cat, tail flicking lazily in the cool darkness.
In the distance golden stubble glints in the
sunlight
Where haymakers drift in hazy cider dreams,
Tractor silent for the afternoon.
The faithful sheepdog sleeps, twitches, and
dreams of cats.
There is purpose to this day, amber and golden
There is joy in being.
For this moment there are no wars, no hunger,
or pain.
There is only life, breathing, through every
pore under heaven.
Ron Harding
