This Too Will Pass

I am a dry, warm summer day,
I am the cool, blue pyjama sky,
I am the puffs of egg –white cloud,
I am the waving trees: wind-rustled, aloud.

I am the murmur of tranquil sounds:
I am the tractor, straining, breaking ground.
I am the smell of new mown hay,
I am the flock of lambs at play.

I am the wildflower rainbow, below the hedge.
I am the bumblebee in a maze of scents.
I am the frantic, zigzag, butterflies,
I am the pheasants’ and the black crows’ cries.

BUT

I am the angry storm not far away,
I am the anvil cloud of warship grey,
I am the deluge growing inside,
I am the fresh wind, rising, wild.

I am the fear of lightning flashes,
I am the awe to thunder crashes,
I am the wet, earthy atmosphere
I am the warning on the clammy air.

I am where the Wild Things hide.
I am the hedge umbrella, leafy and wide.
I am the thatch of green blackberries.
I am raindrops the size of cherries.

THEN,

I am the suddenly soaking land.
I am the dripping trees, and
I am the thirsty, gurgling ditch,
I am the puddles: muddily rich.

I am the tempest’s sudden passing.
I am the sunshine in a rain-washed sky
I am the steam rising from fields
I am wildlife emerging from their shields.

I am now the storm at bay.
I am a dry, warm summer day.

Granddad 2016

For Ivan’s website – unaltered since 3 July 2016 – click here.