Salad days


I watch the heat drip and listen to the heat sing and taste the hot and pungent colours of the summer. The birds are still, and even the poplars have ceased their trembling. This baked earth is what we crave when winter bites with frozen teeth, but such wilting and shrivelling dries my heart, and I long for the crisp mornings of running rivers in the ditch, the bright stream and pale sky reflecting cool silver that remind me of my salad days.

banners of summer

the lolling tongues, shade-seekers

listen for the night.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

6 thoughts on “Salad days”

  1. We always want what we don’t have.
    Silver seems to be floating around right now. Merril just used it, and my poem for Colleen (which I’ll post tomorrow once I figure out the art) has silver growing out of it too. (K)

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