TODAY IT IS DIFFICULT TO WRITE WITH HOPE
21st January 2025
A hazy winter sun,
lies directly to our south.
We are blessed to find
a vacant riverside bench,
where we are able to rest awhile.
We witness a chilly garden tidying
and are enfolded
by a gorgeously lazy
wood-smoke aroma.
Three thousand miles away,
mad things are being enacted,
that will sound the death knell
of our planet.
Yet here,
for a precious fleeting moment,
by the ancient-flowing Cam,
all is wonderfully well with the world.
