A place to contemplate,
consume the planted past,
echoes of a rare summer
when colours were newly sown.
Stand in the shadow of a tree,
remembering its thin branches
trembling in a light wind.

To watch a space
where a flower once grew,
breathing the fragrance
of a new sky,
inspecting the silences;
corners
where nature’s poetry
whispers to an attentive mind.

A place to be lonely in,
listening to the shadows
trying so hard
to inhabit the light,
counting the moments,
one-by-one,
wondering if a part of me
has grown unnoticed.

Rowland Hughes ©