Sunday Frost

Warming By The Hour


   A sun filled Sunday morning here in the fens with lingering frost still hidden in garden shade and a raw chill still holding in the air. A willing day of toil faces this bead maker with beads of plenty awaiting a cold water wash and photographs to be taken, the afternoon sun I hope will warm my back as yet more seeds are sown and beds prepared in the garden of veg and if luck shines on me an hour reading by the pond will end the day.
   As colder fingers start this day my mind turns to warm summer mornings that will I hope soon return, when that fresh cent of mint rushes up as you brush past and sweet young carrot can be pulled and eaten straight from the ground, hedgerows can once again be walked beside tall Barley ears and summer river banks will hide a thousand nest's, a season of smiles and quiet thoughts to make this old hermit happy.
   Now I head towards my flame while service bells call those who pray to great houses of stone where windows of colour are lit by this early sun and those of faith and those of guilt will ask forgiveness. I ask of none as my world is simple and pleasing, one of which only thanks are needed and where worship is not a part of life, I ride the seasons that nature sends in my short stay and enjoy them I try, to me a greater service will never be held.