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Two weeks to the Solstice

Bright skies and a brisk breeze

Ease us into summer.

My seventieth

Though I don't recall

Most of them;

But memory is fickle

And the few

Outweigh the many

Passed unmarked.

Solstice.

Fulcrum of the year

Tipping point between

Firle Beacon in the heat

Tumbling waves

Fledglings and plump lambs

Before a winding down

Towards the hug of autumn.

Iona and Lindisfarne

Both knew the truth

That seasons hold more sway

Than artificial festivals of saints

And chalk cut figures

Standing stones and hills

Are simpler links

Than any urban shrine.

Seventy years sing out a simple truth.

You speak to me in what you have created

And smile when I've insisted I know better

Hinting that your ways are overrated.

Atop the Beacon or striding the Drove Way

Your love shines on me - like the sun today.

Brian Hick summer 2015

©copyright Sally Hick 13.5.26