Monsieur Proust had his madeleine, I have my summer berries…
Loved my Sunday yesterday. Ingirid invited a small paty of us to play with her in her garden. She is at the helm of a magical eden where everything seems to grow in both open air and in polytunnels… Just magic. A list of tasks were clearly scribbled on postcards. Ingirid pointed out two areas: peaches to be harvested from well established trees in one polycrub, and, that secluded corner where gooseberries, black and redcurrants ripen in the sun. So much flew back inside my poet’s mind. Whilst the first task was achieved at lightning speed, that latter harvest heaved a bowlful of those tiny summer gems, as well as poetics.
As in micropoetry form at first…
petits fruits rouges, en grapes, en vrac,
entre martinets et sourires,
là où le temps
Peerie red fruits clinging like grapes
in between swifts & smiles,
there, when time
locked in a
and then, as a poem,
You, scarlet gems so well hidden.
So delicate, in
one corner of a garden, where my hands search in between
leaves, guardians of time – where
time writes fate in
I first found you as a child,
crouched against earth and loneliness,
that thin mesh, invisible cage to let the sun work
miracles after each battering of rain.
You, tiny gems so well
precious stones of summer.
Later, a feast awaited us as we gathered in the garden to share a marvellous Sunday afternoon. I love gardening parties. So much to enjoy from such capsules of time.
Thank you, Ingirid 🙂