Laugh

A thank you to morning

The world I enter is dark and grey – a surprise.

The ground has grown tall, reaching up, nearly to the sky.

I laugh at my new-found height in this altered morning.

Footpaths are paved with a sheen of diamonds under streetlights,

even more so in the memory of a thousand winter days gone by.

My nose casts outward for the scent of fresh rain,

finding it not in the now but in that time of memory.

It suffices.

Why is it that everything is so much quieter now?

Even the rain patters softly and the gulls are less raucous.

I look down at my feet and imagine them clad,

not in the armour of sandals but of gum boots.

Mentally I cast aside my sensible umbrella in favour of a raincoat.

I colour it bright in my mind, with polka dots. And laugh.

Within me I feel a stirring.

The Everywhen Child wakes.

She remains still but alert, captivated by a world shrunk to her size.

She brightens the day with her smile – full, radiant.

All teeth. And yet somehow silent, listening.

We watch together as an old man spreads wide his arms and twirls,

a great smile on his uplifted face.

He runs a few steps and then stops, reverting to a sensible walk.

We gaze at each other in delight

and laugh at our shared secret.

But as the day brightens the Everywhen Child stretches,

yawns, and returns to slumber.

It is not yet her day to dance.

Ruth Davmor