Everyday Poetry

My husband had to leave the house early this morning.  He's competing in a fishing competition and one of his superstitious rituals is me wishing him luck just before he leaves. He always leaves me an insulated cafetiere of coffee, and I often drift back to sleep once he's gone.  Not this morning though!      You wake me early to say goodbye -  The sun burns the clouds from the horizon  Turning our valley golden as it climbs the sky.  The low bellow of cattle, rattling bleats of sheep Grumpily drift across the emerging fields, to join The crows' slow scold, the plump fluting of woodpigeons, In a raucous dawn chorus. At its crescendo The sun crests the hill in a sudden blinding dazzle,  And all my dreams of sleep are surrendered.  © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved 

A conversation yesterday reminded me of a time when going to bed had a different dynamic. Nostalgia brings to mind the pleasures,  but there were often associated pains.   Do you remember The reckless need of the narrow Single beds of summer school - The way you'd sleep on the floor Not wanting to leave, too squashed to stay? Do you remember The sheer intoxication Of the wide expanse of the Premier Inn, Hired for one heady evening And the sweet pain of a morning? Do you remember The excitement of those days With nostalgic wonder, or regret, As we lay snug in our marital bed Wrapped in its familiar easy comfort? © Copyright 2022. Chris Auger. All Rights Reserved