I passed a quiet hour today,
Watching people in a Café.
The studious girl with her homework spread,
Glancing sideways at the clique she'd rather join instead.
The middle-aged woman licking lips as she swiped,
Was it tinder, shoes or pastries on her notepad flying right?
The couple not speaking so engrossed in their phones,
Only acknowledging each other when it was time to go home.
The trio of yummy mummies, dressed carefully to ****,
Smudging lipstick on caramel lattes - politely competing to pay the bill.
I watched them all quietly,
Each tableau a one-act play.
On my last sip the curtain fell,
I rose and paid. Went my own way.

Hovering high
Powerful wings
Maintain precise position
Steadfast beats
Against the wind
Battling storm conditions
Exhaustion comes
In the blink of a eye
They are swept beyond my vision.

Ophelia rips still-living leaves from bowed trees.
The starkness of Winter will come early this year.
I watch them fly; copper, silver, green.
Cut off in their prime.
The unacknowledged tragedies of the hurricane.

Eyes wide with troubled wonder she looks at me.
I long to take her in my arms and soothe her disquiet,
But I know it won't be welcome.

Little one,
I wish I could explain the world to you.
I wish I could tell you that these things will pass.
I wish I could tell you that one day these weights of your mind will just be fleeting memories,
not to let them drag you down.

Then she smiles at me.
Deep dimples and shining hazel eyes.
Mood shifts in a mercurial instant.
She climbs onto my lap and slender arms envelop my neck,
Her breath warm in my hair.
I move with glacial slowness to return this rarest of embraces, fearing to break the spell,
my breath held,
I close my eyes and imprint this moment on my soul;
it may not come again.

This most precious of gifts,
the touch of a child who won't be touched,
overwhelms me.