Light reflects from the laurel hedge in the sun.
On the garden table, spread with gingham cloth,
summer afternoon tea awaits it’s guests,
home made lemonade glints in the crystal glass.
Farther down the path, washing blows in the breeze
absorbing that line dried freshness we all love.
Light reflects on the laurel hedge in the rain,
splashes in the bird bath beckoning the blackbird.
trees and flowers nod while bird feeders sway.
Only the goldfinch seem to feed in a shower.
Grey clouds scud across the sky in puddles
and silhouetted trees quiver on the surface.
Light reflects on the laurel hedge in the wind.
Ever changing places, an ever moving scene,
fanning the shadow where the old bench sits.
Rose petals scatter, scent carries on
taking memories on a trip through life
while autumn’s fallen leaves dance in the air.
Light reflects on the laurel hedge in the cold,
frosted tips glisten, crystalised as sugar.
The robin sits on the old bench singing,
her red breast a symbol of warmth in her heart.
Sparkling icicles hang from the shed roof.
Most trees are bare, but not my evergreen.
Light reflects from the laurel hedge every day,
stalwart and strong throughout the winds of time,
sheltering the privacy of my own space.
There the little buddha sits on a rock
waiting for the light to change but never end,
always returning with a new day’s dawn.
Elaine Morris (c) October 2015.