Posted in Published Stories & Poetry

When Good Days are

Good days are ladybirds, black and yellow striped bees
sun ripening pinks of raspberries
and the soft sound of a heron wading across the morning sky.

So far, this has been my morning.

For some, days are measured in productivity
chores crossed off lengthy lists,
must do’s morphed into were done’s.

For me, days are measured in the changes of my garden
the movement of the seasons,
the variation in the shapes of the waning or waxing moon.

At the moment measurement is following late summer into
flowering fuchsias,
tinting red leaves of the Guelder Rose
tall stems of the almost blooming Crocosmia.

It’s watching the bulbous crown on the Monterey Pine
stretching and growing,
as young green sprouts on the Alders and Sycamore
evolve into fresh new leaves.

Good days are days like these.