there is an intimacy to a summer morning

that i meant to write about

but the afternoon came swiftly and filled me with heat

so that i forgot the coolness

and the way the mists shroud the truth

that beginnings and endings are intimate too

like the seed and the harvest at the farmer’s market

and the first and last mornings of scones at the stand up the road

and the new lives replacing the old ones, lived out on this hill,

closer and closer still