Fellows gardenThe sun not warm enough, the wind to cooling all too quiet and noiseless, before a foot of a dove squelches a green bloomed patch of grass; too green for my thoughts. I watch the birds circle and peck, watching them so often like they do us in drawn circles, how I watched you once close your eyes before lilies. As I lap sun, bees and golden nectar three doves waddle an open disco display before me and I think of how I watched you bend blades of grass with your determined grey feet. I want to say I am alive, I’m full of moss, waterlilies, green and crunchy leaves; but those doves begin to nutter in their beaks, their squawks a chuckle at me, or those outside placing tokens of gold in collectors hands and I’m a springtime bubble inside stoned walls.
- Country diary: Cadboll, Highlands: When doves cry (guardian.co.uk)
- “Peninsula” – Poem by Heather Whitley Gibson (tigergroves.wordpress.com)
- Fellows garden:Poem by Rosanna Garland by Heather Whitley Gibson (tigergroves.wordpress.com)