Moving day.

Moving day.

I am outside but will be in the way at some point.

I rarely stop when walking

It is about the pace

The heart rate

The value of exercise

To my constitution

I glance

Nod

Smile,

It is all in the eyes,

Appreciate the colour of the sky

The hue of blue

Against the green of plane trees

The clarity of the water

In the harbour

Before the boats come in

Or out

But I rarely stop.

If I were to be caught gardening

With a hoe or trowel

Weeding on hands and knees

Planting with bonemeal

And rooting powder

Would I pause

To talk to a passing neighbour

Or a rambling stranger

Trying to find their way

On a grey day

Before the rain falls.

I wonder why

I should bother

When my dad’s words echo

In my ears

“Always water them in my boy.”

So why hurry

To bury the roots in the soil

And peat

When a bit of light rain on my back

Is a godsend

On a hot day.

Much as this walk will need to end

Before the deluge

The humidity

Already draining the strength

Out of me

Friendliness is never

Too far distant

Not a scrap of bonhomie

Exists without effort

And when the rain comes,

The weather breaks,

Perhaps I will be relieved

Enough to stop

Long enough to take a breath

And pass the time of day

With anyone who comes my way

But for now

I will plough on

Through the rut of morning

In well-accustomed silence