Life's sometimes hundrum haze
and maze of tangled thoughts
are now and then lit by illuminations
fleeting through the lens of revelation's eye;

like a full-moon in June fringed with
a late-night-hot-navy-blue satin sky
or an expanse of shimmering water
dotted here and there by an odd-dark-green island.

Waves and leaves rustling in the contented sphere,
radio-voices and soft music floating over
the air-waves travelling from a distant dwelling;

the identification of a wild plant or flower;
your only child putting his big toe in his mouth.

Miracles without grandeur,
miracles of simple import
with no screaming white gulls
spoiling the tranquil view of the sea's horizon.

The hundrum existence of millions of lives suddenly ceased
as did their obedience to the drudgery of habit -
taking to the sea, to their gardens, to boats, cool drinks,
sun-tan lotions, ice-creams, cool dresses,
to light and shade as dictated to by desire.

Sand scorching to the naked foot glitters like gold for the having
and every square of every town shelters under a haven of umbrellas
and lazy liquor assisted sensuous talk.

The farmers work on a Sunday too
and weekend traffic jams sweat it out
to the blaring of radio cheerfulness in the extreme.

Spotless blue skies progress to star-lit canopies
and barbecues are the dominant feature of the early hours.

Sun and good humour, honest abandonment, salads and heavy foliage rule.