All This

The next few posts on here will be poems from my book Dancing in the Rain.

A big thank you to all my blogging friends for your ongoing support and encouragement without which I know I wouldn’t still be writing. Special thanks to Diane Denton, author and artist, who not only designed the lovely front cover, but who also encouraged me to approach Bennison Books when I was all set to self publish. Thank you Diane for helping me to reach a dream.

All This

Alone in the house this morning,
except for two cats and a dog
basking in behind-the-window January sun;
they could be meditating.

Leaf shadows of the eucalyptus
quiver on the wall
like bewildered butterflies
and the patio door is ajar.
A feathered chorus floats into the room,
a melodic liquid song.
The kettle boils.

There is something extraordinary
in these ordinary things
and I am happy;
I have learned to love the music of silence
I feel I could sit here for hours
just watching the measured breathing
of two cats and a dog,
listening to the sound of
hope filling an open window,
and sipping tea
All this,
and then soon, the edge of spring
like the edge of youth,
where everything is about to become,
and nothing is yet past.


I take up my usual place on the sofa
with a cup of coffee;
your eyes light up,
bigger and brighter
than a Supermoon
because you now have my full attention.
You grab a baby walker;
of course you are no longer a baby
but it makes the best noise for
a host of different vehicles.
You roar past me
from one room to another
Look Im a fire engine!
Fires are rapidly extinguished
with amazing sound effects
involving spit.
Next time you appear
the baby walker is a lawn mower;
you tell me not to worry,
you wont really cut the floor
because that would be silly.
A police car, excavator and
steam roller all take their turns
in your own mini theatre
of imagination
until you begin to slow down,
rub your eyes and sit next to me
with teddy and a book.
What are you now? I ask.
Theodore, you say
as you snuggle close.


The trees whisper me

into their awareness;

I choose one to sit beneath.

My head curves an arc with ease

to gaze swaying arms,

breathing in their comfort,

sharing their world

on a day to remember

when I finally see our lives as one.

A tiny spider walks across my hand,

stops half way, for a rest,

then carries on.

Wendy L. Macdonald

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