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.