i have not written much about advent, just two things.

yet i know it is here,      felt in   bones;         my soul. i

have no system now to believe  things,                     yet

the reminder comes without warning.                    each

year.

this year

to my own suprise, i find that i still can cry.                  it

is a long time passed. they say our work ,          our souls

are in our chest.

it is not just me

it is          family.

there is no photograph.

sbm.

to explain to you who cannot see,

the cloy, the quantity of water, tasks, and other

hurts, that fit into  a day. the moment

your feet slide into mud, with one word.

heard , read, imagined, the sentence dives and plays

whole, yet as days move on, flotation occurs,

buoys,  slowly we face back to sea , swim on.

either that or drown.

sbm.

will you watch the world             treading.



water floats my heart high, reflected red

below,                                              sky above.





will you hold me up when i am failing,  no

longer floating   .   will you play soft music

say



that we are in this together.meanwhile shall

we keep swimming



together?



sbm.

yet we have learned to            swim

steadily. wet, we wonder and count.



i wonder if it still works for me despite

the cold, the older body. they say i shall

be beach ready.



i do not think that now applies. i have



two nice bathing costumes.



sbm.

the shop was closed. the window;

the fifties’ kitchen, red and cream,

seen

as on an antiques show.

book of laundry planted there,

as if they knew, I wanted it.

to read the rules, regulations,

soaps and sudsy flakes.

dream of singeing smells

of ironing,  gas filled machine,

the one plugged into the light,

back then, green road.

boiling the whites furiously,

steamed  the kitchen.

copper stick bleached

beyond.

I could dream an eternity,

to learn the mastery

of laundry.

sbm.

so i got home,and the wind yesterday has blown some of the leaves away….

taken the holly wreath down  there and surprised to find I was crying.
( ah when you are under the weather things get to you……)
it will be nice to see you. the early days are hard especially this time of year.
your hat has turned into quite a project. i took it to mill to get darning wool,and it was pointed out that lots of the holes are indeed eyelets, and what a splendid hat it is.
also spoke of leaf bags and she said that if one have had the bags a while they will start to degrade…..
how much needs mending?
sbm.

do you listen as i do?

having moved the car up the lane

back wards ready for.

the day.           started well unlike

other years.

wait for the bird song , radio three.

eight thirty.                sunday bells,

stand.

in the garden.

listen to the bird song.

sbm.