Lying on a hammock under

trees brimming with summer

I gaze at the undersides of leaves

and birds’ nests. An inverted

green dome.  A cathedral of calm.


Caressed by breezes laced with

the fragrance of wood smoke,

jasmine and river-breath. Trees

drop their leaves and birds their

song. Little gifts of benediction.


The sun through the leaf-lattice

twinkles like bits of broken, yellow

glass, like the deity in a stained

glass window, playful not solemn,

playing hide-and-seek with me.


Blissfully unaware, unmindful

that on its third satellite the

inhabitants have broken time

into pieces and labelled them

for convenience and celebration.


And so, we send fireworks into

the air and make resolutions,

forgetting, quite ungratefully

it is the fireball in the sky that

got us through yet another orbit.