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.