Grateful for the sun rising,

For the heat in the home,

The fresh tea on the stove,

A smile and morning kiss from my love.

 

Thank you for this day.

 

The face is now silent,

Yet calls us to break from the stone,

To speak and act for justice and love.

 

 

Hassling away, the spitting effusive fight continues,

With little attention to harm done,

Only winning inventive is considered a prize.

 

Time to leave, make changes, consider alternatives if the pain continues, unabated.

Even after shouts of incompetence are diluted by distance.

 

 

Brighter than a summers day,

The Red Door is Open.

 

Inviting me in to the cool of the kitchen,

The Red Door is Open.

 

The scullery maid has some fresh lemonade,

The Red Door is Open.

Awaiting my company and the weather report.

The Red Door is Open.

 

Even though, she knows it already.

And opened the Red Door for me.

 

Peering through frost and cold,

The trees obscure the sanctuary,

Removing my noticing.

 

Then, suddenly, it appears,

Green amongst the monochrome.

 

Beckoning me home.

 

The freshly made wares look longingly at the midday sun;

Seeking and wondering what their new home might bring.

 

 

As the evening comes, time to rest in a safe harbor,

Where we can refuel, refresh and recharge for another day at sea.

 

Be it stormy or calm, I will be ready.

 

Memory of a Summer Day