Bluebells
in memory of Peter 1929 ‒ 2021
We had watched the bluebells arriving
in ones and twos, clusters then crowds;
their lights switching on like houses
on the hillside settling in for the night.
We’d watched the blue covers extending
down the fields, and the Castle Caldwell trees
bathing ankle-deep in those waves.
We filled our eyes with the beauty,
harvesting it for thinner days;
the day the brilliant blue light dimmed on the hillside
was the day it went from your eyes.
We stopped the car to see it quenched
like a plantation felled or the bay’s muddy floor at neap tide,
and thanked God the granaries of our memories were overflowing.
