July Evening by Norman MacCaig

A recovery day .
The good things today so far have been :
Phone call with Kirsty who is coming home here tonight after the gymnastics at the Commonwealth Games.
Making good progress with organisation of the workshop
Not thinking about work .
Taking a packed lunch to Jay and helping in the shop.
A beautiful bunch of freesias and gathering greenery from the garden.
The dinner being ready in the slow cooker and finding this lovely poem by Norman MacCaig .

July Evening

A bird’s voice chinks and tinkles
Alone in the gaunt reedbed –
Tiny silversmith
Working late in the evening.

I sit and listen. The rooftop
With a quill of smoke stuck in it
Wavers against the skybumble-bee
In the dreamy heat of summer.

Flowers’ closing time: bee lurches
Across the hayfield, singing
And feeling its drunken way
Round the air’s invisible corners.

A grass is grace. And charlock
Is gold of its own bounty.
The broken chair by the wall
Is one with immortal landscapes.

Something has been completed
That everything is part of,
Something that will go on
Being completed forever.