The longest day has the promise
Of endless summer: the piercingly beautiful
Dawn, the rosy sun rise, the bright morning
Mellowing into a heady scented evening amongst
The blooming petunias and geraniums.

These things never happen when the calendar predicts
Summer's promise was unfulfilled and no sooner had I unearthed
The watering-can when the heat turned to chill
The grey dawn became squally morning in Huddersfield..
It wasn't all spoiled: I ducked the rain christening the solstice
in a bookshop I found a book of poems-

'The Language Issue

I place my hope on the water
In this little boat
Of language...' Nuala N Dhomhnaill

So the time passes quickly as all my days tend to do
This must mean my longest day is as happy as my shortest
Or being longer, is happier?

copyright © the author, 2000