Past eight o’clock and the sun still warm.
Dappled leaves rock gently, silvered in sunlight.
Fuchsias dance on spindly legs, a ‘pas de dozen,’
a free-for-all on the breeze.
Chalk-white against the trees
the painted dove-cote stretches tall.
New-mown grass awaits the shadowing of the young fox,
not yet brave enough to tackle next-door’s rooster.
Daisies nodding off; the neat and tidy
scratch and snap of shears;
tree-tops twittering with fledglings;
murmurs of a closing day.
Crashing through this lullaby,
joy-riders play their Russian Roulette;
two-wheel cornering and screech of tyres
and little Jimmy, down the road,
with his hammer bashes old cars
—can’t wait to be big enough.
© Marion Sharville