Poetry

There’s a chill tonight
on Helderberg Hill
an icy wind blows through the trees
and it’s raining still,
as it did for days
as it does each
and every Mediterranean winter.
 
The sweet scent
and not that of the forest of the trees
but of lavender instead is in the breeze
and fills my lungs, fills my heart, my head
until it becomes a part of me
 
but big eyed you lie
in the bed next to me
and the rain outside falls on and on
with fog cordoning off the hill,
the painting on the wall,
the garden with its bush upon bush
of waving lavender
are now all gone out of sight
 
and a solitary pistil awakens and grows in size,
entering a calyx, a tubular corolla forming two lips
and it could have been spring
as new life is sprouting, but a chilly winter it is
in the house near Helderberg Hill