Looking forward, looking down, looking round
Wishing for bluebells to show, yet daring to see them
Lest our hurry spurs them on and they are lost in the rushing green.
Forgetting, too, the detail of just one emerging leaf on hazel, or hawthorn, barely seen.
Tasting the cold of the sunrise, tensed against the chill,
But feeling the imagined warmth, the memory replacing a wrapped coat.
That warmth will come, followed by the magic of an evening, still
And quiet, perhaps a small south breeze, enough to move a leaf,
But not enough to lift a shiver – rather to be embraced for its soft love of us.
The world rages in other places, but here we can keep our belief
And our quiet times. Here we must look around, listen, and feel, lest we forget
Our surround. Looking forward gently, into each day, discovering its wonders,
Eyes wide open to watch the bluebells work their charms