Stan and Bette Solomons

Soft spring air of early morning
invites escape, conjures up thought.
Though Acre Lane is rough and stony,
hedgerows flourish on either side.

Hawthorn berries reddening,
elder flowers, frilly white.
Blazing leaves of pink herb-robert
fold broken bricks within their grasp.

Sapphire speedwells peeping through
and pimpernels with starry petals.
Flying flowers, peacock blue,
lay their eggs upon the nettle.

Rampant goose-grass clings and smothers.
Bindweed flowers explode in joy
as virile stems curl widdershins
and trap their unsuspecting prey.

Nature raw in leaf and stem.
Food for thought on such a day.

Down to the Stonebow
to look for the kingfisher.
He was there two seasons ago

Past the cleft oak
lightning-struck black,
meagre shoots on fragile twigs.
Painters delight in its form.

On to the bridge,
its beaten-earth track,
the grass, the stone and the moss.
Never again will packhorses pass.

In the Plantation the brook is deep
with green-brown reflections
of ivy-clad trees stretching for light
and calm water flowing.

Two years ago
the brook was poisoned.
Mallards and swans disappeared.
We haven’t seen the Kingfisher since!

Now the Blackbrook’s clean,
and ready for fishing.
Minnows and sticklebacks
swim by in shoals.

Even as I gaze –

Swift – into the brook,
flash of cobalt,
chestnut orange,
Dagger beak leading.

He returns to his bough,
knocks out the fish,
and swallows it whole
– headfirst!

My shoes leak white over the polished floor.
Hong Kong – ninety per cent humidity in June.

I feel the cool smooth surface
of pearls against my skin –
two rows, cultured in Japan.

The strong flavour of the Orient overwhelms me.
Home is not here
I miss the gentle spring.

Translucent colours focus my mind
The pearls give assurance, keep me calm.
My husband gave them to me
when our daughter was born.
I know I can rely on them at any time.

When stress overwhelms me
I touch the pearls and relax.
They are my memory and my future.