These little things
These little things
Day 18: an ode to life's small pleasures. I thought of how much pleasure I get from our garden, and simply listed three small things which stimulate each of the senses. This is one which would definitely benefit from more work - but I need to get out in the garden!
The first green shoots pushing through crumbly soil
The freshness of white daisies standing proud in the grass
The blowsy pink blossom announcing it's spring.
The plop of a surfacing fish when we scatter their food
The echoing chimes as the breeze passes through
The robin's melody as he waits for fork-turned grubs.
The sweetness of brushed mint as I walk down the steps
The evocative, nostalgic tang of freshly mown grass
The musty fug lurking beneath the compost bin lid.
The sensuous savour of a fig clinging to my tongue
The sharp sweetness of crushed mint steeped in gin
The illicit burst of flavour from tomatoes fresh off the vine.
The rough wooden handrails helping me up and down the steps
The cool damp grass as I sit weeding the borders
The fine dry soil slipping easily through my fingers.
Each small garden wonder keeps me returning
To savour this mixture of old pleasures and new,
A whole universe of sensations in our own patch of the world.
© Copyright 2020. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
Day 18: an ode to life's small pleasures. I thought of how much pleasure I get from our garden, and simply listed three small things which stimulate each of the senses. This is one which would definitely benefit from more work - but I need to get out in the garden!
The first green shoots pushing through crumbly soil
The freshness of white daisies standing proud in the grass
The blowsy pink blossom announcing it's spring.
The plop of a surfacing fish when we scatter their food
The echoing chimes as the breeze passes through
The robin's melody as he waits for fork-turned grubs.
The sweetness of brushed mint as I walk down the steps
The evocative, nostalgic tang of freshly mown grass
The musty fug lurking beneath the compost bin lid.
The sensuous savour of a fig clinging to my tongue
The sharp sweetness of crushed mint steeped in gin
The illicit burst of flavour from tomatoes fresh off the vine.
The rough wooden handrails helping me up and down the steps
The cool damp grass as I sit weeding the borders
The fine dry soil slipping easily through my fingers.
Each small garden wonder keeps me returning
To savour this mixture of old pleasures and new,
A whole universe of sensations in our own patch of the world.
© Copyright 2020. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved
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