gem scones
and ginger loaf bread,
slathered with farmfresh butter.

washed down with
oh so **** cold home made
lemonade ices.

little pots of salmon rillettes
and tiny potted prawns
eaten on crisp potato wafers.
crustless finger sandwiches
of cucumber and tomato,
grown twenty feet to the left
of where we sit.

in the shade of the radiata pine tree.
minted gingerale punch.
sunshine dappled light,
playing on fine glassware.

the aromas of ovenlove
mint, pine, ginger, citrus
and salt,
mingle with old spice and
lavender water, of the grands, dozing,
as they sit baking, basking,
in the afternoon heat.

high tea,
at the homestead farm.
on the windswept coastal
plain.

once every couple of months,
awaited with much, anticipation.
remembered with much
fondness
a feast of food, family
and  much love.