Swaddling

It was summer when she passed - we knew come spring she would not last. But as fresh buds broke from dead wood, the tree stump bark cork cambium erupted, unexpected growth, we set our minds to recreate, wrapped in those tie-dyes, student years, free spirited, our crazy route - wherever wheels led, patchwork quilt. The golden beetle, sixties beat, with petals painted engine end, exhausted smoke, herbaceous mist, above tired tyres, poor tarmac grip, we blared our Massachusetts air. Amongst pricked gorse of butter milk, where heather bushed in purple rug, and ling blushed swags for peewit wings, we reminisced on heath surrounds with lizard whips and butterflies. We lay on turf, moss bed of peats, shared sunbathe near an adder brood and watched the glare drop from our earth as cool pulled lower down the snake in the question mark, our beading eyes, saw what we knew…