People can let you know
The moment they feel unwell or sick
The main event is sat before table
never always as clear with those that cannot speak to us to ask for help.
The event may be passed over like a paper towel
The upright life has another facet, gesture and whisper, but not recognised at once
The care of our beloved pets exceeds logic but revolves around the silence, How can we know when its time, time to react to our thoughts and make action
If only we might communicate, through precious literature, knowledge or hunch. Our pets serve us with their love, without demand. At no time are they lookinģ for us to suit their lives, yet we do it anyway. We know, or believe we know their inner- most desires.
The sad events of any loving entity make leaving the earth a soulful, heart-breaking time.
Our love reciprocal gives us a reason to worry beyond reason almost before a predicted outcome
Then closing their eyes for the last time need not be as sad but merely a transition or gateway to the Summerlands. Loving us as they do it is never final, but significant only in a physical state
Their love and spirit for us lives forever. Returning to the stars in the sky, Lily shines on her way to eternity knowing her life was precious and fulfilling in leaving pawprints in our hearts and to stardust fom whence she came.

Autumnal leaves have fallen
The onset of winter declared
Seasons changing do not destroy but allow nature to rest.
Throughout the years
We see and feel the early morning dew on our bare  toes
The weak spring sun through the trees
Reminds us of Springs past
Memories of Easter time, lighter evenings and blossom as the trees awake after winter slumber.
Memories are precious
evoking feelings of places, incidents, loved ones.
Summer, a time of warm long days
Eating outside and holidays to special places.
Remembering the seasons has personal moments embedded in our psyche
People are often regarded as a special Summer soul, Happy to make others cheerful, relaxed and content.
It is of course terribly difficult to allow these special folk to move to the Summerlands. We know no reason why they might cross the border but respect the fact that the circle of the seasons applies to us too. Allowing future life to develop, grow and enjoy this beautiful planet we, like the plants have a 'season".
Give a thought for the sunshine that bathed them, the ice and snow that retained them and the hundreds of days in-between where they spread their love over us and we them.

The blue, blue eyes peer toward you
Never again a conscious decision
To stay over, can be taken lightly
Your life is changed
Responsibility reverbs around your brain
A parent, can I be?
The cot and tiny clothes
Confirm a positive

No child is the same and your text book planning
Is already looking like a farce
Taking the governments view

Silver birch and holly tree
Along the path I walk
Woodland curtain
Bringing cool elements to mind

Squelchy footprints and ice cold wind
Cutting through the trees
Silence of the woods brings peace
Except for the chatter of the crows

I see noone but imagine souls
Of long-gone folk not far away
Hiding, hiding
I quicken my step, yet the paths
Incline keeps my breathing steady but deep

My fingers start to numb in my gloves
A typical feeling as the temperature
Hits just above freezing

I shiver but maintain my step
Removing my gloves
Thrusting my hands
Deep into my pockets,

The light is failing now
Winter solstice only a week away
I feel alone yet strangely
The wood seems full of people.

My imagination running wild.
Turning back as the path ends I realise
How the sunlight has gone
Twilight wraps its grey fingers around me.

Two small boys played on the waste ground
It was midsummer and the grass was in its golden glory
Dry and straw like they werd
Catching grasshoppers in the long grass
The older boy, a confident red hairded bespectacled lad
Gave advice to the younger one, 'keep your hands cupped, you'll catch one then'
The hot  the underlying concrete
The Bombies was a a patch of grass and the remains of buildings still uncleared after the second world war.
'Lets get home now' the red head suggested as they wandered still laughing back to his house not 50 metres away  down the hill.
Summer holidays spent together on the Bombies or playing cricket

Are you the type of person
Preferring to be under a roof
Or wandering in the garden
Or galloping out on the hoof

Are you desperate to escape
To the sunshine
The beach or leafy glade
Or sitting on the sofa
Drinking whisky and lemonade

Do you love to look out the window
But pleased to be warm inside
When others are walking in wellies
And you are safe in the dry

Is your dream to have a posh bedroom
A shower and toilet ensuite
Or prefer to be on a mountain
With long grass round your feet

Is your pleasure the feel of the spray
When waves break on the rocks
Or the smell of bread in the oven
As you stand in your joggers and socks

Do you like to get up in the morning
And put on your running kit
Escape to the footpaths or roadways
Or sit on the sofa and knit

I expect the thought of a bike ride
Would not be everyone's thing
When theres chance to go to the bathroom
To stand in the shower and sing

The difference from indoor to outdoor
Shows each of us as unique
In the kitchen or in the garden
In the chair or up the creek

Some of us like to be walking
Or leaping over a gate
The wind and the rain don't deter us
Arriving home quite late

While some prefer the safety
Of the rooms within the house
Things in the warmth of the homestead
Hiding away like a mouse.

In truth the split isn't easy
From indoor to outdoor you see
The weather decides for it mostly
Unless you are a ***** like me!

Salty spray ever dripping, the months of winter merge
Black tarmac usually so robust,
Pressured by evil winds of middle earth
Boring similarity where days glide by
Watched with pale faces in despair
Wet weather conditions fail the promise of new life
Flooding events, desperate for relief wash over
Where bright, white snow might be welcome
Yet, still the greasy mud clogs our footpaths
Making any sort of walking a physical impracticality
The greyness clouding our windows
Encourages little incentive to explore outside
Spring flowers resting within their bud in the cold earth
Reluctant and selfish to break through sodden mud
Before they come and surprise us with welcome colour
Giving respite within this desperate monochrome landscape.