Gone for the day
I heard the door thud
and you are out in
wind and rain, all grey
to a day at your contented desk.

In here I hear the wind
speak in roars and the
slates rattle.  My quiet
heart beats of peace

and my mind soars to
Friday when we head
home to the mountains
and the snows, to the
buds of Spring and the
busy birds.

What a place we are
come to, years on,
life quick in going
but the steps were

Two obscure people
unsung heroes of their
own hours and time,
not known beyond
the borders of our
own hearts, sufficient
and replete.  We complete

each other and our time
passes, eased by love.
Here I do not have to prove -
I just am
and it is enough.

I like his sturdy body:
he is bigger than me:
solid, steady.  I rely.
He knows my weather
and my whimsy.
We blether.

These days are all smiles
and I am how lucky:
all my years of grit and
pluck came to here:
bags down.  My feet

are warm under the duvet
and I sit with
no requirement other
than to breathe

and be happy as I read,
write, think, saunter, under
a blue sky
and a smooth sea
with sparkles and
puffy white clouds.  A life

of degrees and temperature
subsides to placid
and to ease, to happy
days with another - this is
harvest time and I am busy
bringing in the sheaves.

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