Simple Deep Joys

My mother has recently come back home from hospital. As she slowly regains her strength I too regain my lightness of spirit, in simple (or are they?) joys.

A quiet cup of tea

outside on a wooden bench

as birds sing up the sun,

others sleeping,

warm-nested in bed.


A butterfly dancing,

black and orange wings

fluttering fantastically,

unafraid it hovers

and settles on a nearby

bright purple flower.


The tentative form of

my now-skinny mum,

fledgling steps in the kitchen,

she directs the making of lasagne,

my heart bursting with joy

as her hands grasp a dish,

hesitate,

then lift it surely

and place it on a table-

the chef awakening.

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