Magic trick

I'm not sure what prompted this memory this morning.  I've been reading a book about our relationship with the sea,  and had intended to write a very different one about swimming in the sea as a child,  when we holidayed in Woolacombe with our dear Ma and Pop - adopted grandparents who we loved just as much (if not more) than our own. But this one edged in! I may have to write a series.  

The trick was

To make it look as it did

Before the dip and lick

Of the spoon. 

Their move to the coast

With its wide reach 

Of flat grey-yellow sands 

Its wild, and blue-grey sea

Was alien after the green

Encircling folds of the fields. 

But our Ma had never truly left, 

Taking with her the rhythms of the farm,

It's hearty breakfasts, sit-down lunches, 

It's light high tea, of thinly sliced bread -

Tucked tight under her left arm

Sliced with a well honed knife

Towards her breast -

Her fruit cake and her scones. 

Her pantry held the clotted cream, 

Thick and buttery, under a glistening crust, 

Tempting us in, to do the magic trick

With our spoons.

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