The figs are ripe – luscious and plentiful
with green shades, and red droplets of nectar – huge and round,
like bells or tears.
The cherries have gone, virtually overnight – a storm of birds
knew their moment of perfect ripeness and sweet flavour.
Apples are green and rosy-red, still waiting to be collected.
Rain droplets make their skins shine – such a delicacy, a staple,
yet a work of art.
The peaches fell in the heavy downpour
when the heavens burst open and drowned the land –
flash-flooding the town and streets; watering a thirsty earth.
The sun shines knowingly through the grey-white clouds,
for it has rained again – but how happy are the trees and vines,
as they depend on nature’s gifts.
Shadows flicker over the green grass and white patio…
and we sit and wait and ponder about what comes next.
Yellow daisies sway in the gentle breeze but the
gigantic sunflowers now hang their drooping heads –
immense flowers cannot hold their heads high anymore -
so they bow to the harvesters – oil, seeds and fodder will be gathered.
The corn is still growing, but their long green leaves are turning brown.
Golden fruit will soon emerge, and the new planting season will commence on other fertile fields.
Medlar trees are still growing – late in the season – a rare fruit from of old.
How amazing is our God from Whom such blessings, and delights come!
The summer warmth is beginning to fade.
Mist is appearing on the hillside, rising like a gentle white veil
above the greens, the sheep and the orange rooftops.
Roses still bloom, willing to risk the colder mountain nights,
still offering beauty and promise.
The sky is solid blue, interspersed with white fluff.
A peace is felt everywhere in this Pyrenean village –
a place almost captured in time, refusing to transition to newness.
Here, in this refuge of a home forgotten by the world,
we can rest, see nature’s joy, absorb its splendour!
We can reflect on the frightening modernity, where people
become numbers, with pressures and instability,
where money and strife all weigh heavily on the soul.
This, here, is but a moment – so we thank God, our Maker, the Creator
for it, all the time – remembering that He is Lord of Time.
And our time is also slowly ending too, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
juliehughesfrance©2024 poetry
