Ordinary Hours

I love these days when nothing in particular happens. The time flows by in doing the most mundane tasks: putting dishes away, tidying a shelf, stroking the cat, having coffee and, of course, writing a poem …

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ORDINARY HOURS

I have fallen into ordinary hours                            
where there is no suddenness
only fluidity of minutes

green touches me with a single thread
slides away to catch a leaf
spins a moment over its browning

leaves fall, loosed by tranquility
and drift into the past

a cat’s movement changes bird-song –
day turns forward

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A Summer Father … terse, imagistic lines; … It’s not nostalgia that we experience but quiet, poignant grief. Richard Stevenson