Gently sleep tugs me
Into a late morning nap
Winter sun subdues
sun, don’t touch me yet.
winter’s pain still lingers strong
in darkness I dwell
with melancholy on me
I don’t want your warm embrace
Winter sunrise beckons –
sea mist shrouds july
gentle waves caress the beach
landmarks deceive me
strawberry moon waits
the coming winter solstice
harvest the sweet fruit
A strawberry moon doesn’t actually appear red. The name is believed to have originally been used by the North American Indian tribe, the Algonquin, who believed the June full moon signalled the start of strawberry picking season. In the Southern hemisphere we can harvest citrus at this time of year.
We’d been dancing around each other for months.
Like a couple of lost planets
trying to recover some semblance of orbit;
neither of us wanting to push this friendship further
for fear of losing what we already had –
On the other hand,
both wanting the situation between us to be more.
We kept kidding ourselves that we were happy.
We didn’t need anybody in our lives again.
I knew that this winter fair was going to be another typical
country pain in the arse.
I’d have to be polite and say Audrey’s cakes were amazing.
Shirley from the dairy across the valley would be there too –
I knew she was keen, but for me, she just didn’t shine.
Maybe it was Smithy’s home brew,
maybe it was the winter moon,
reflected in your smiling eyes,
but as I stood in front of you
on that bare earth dance floor,
I figured it was worth asking.