the last days at baynton
were glowing with winter sun I made sure we soaked it in: we circled the paddock climbed the big old fallen tree the one we pretended was a sailing ship or a steam train or a secret hide-out we surveyed the landscape the familiar lines of home the boots of my children kicking the dust around the dam’s edge our ginger cat Pickles, sleeping by the back door (the last time we would see him) the way the afternoon light streamed on the laundry door made the bricks warm to touch, danced above the kitchen cupboards the wind that rattled the roof at night shook the tree tops woke us in our beds and now the strains of moving are well behind us - weary bones rested, now that spring is here and we smell flowers and we feel air on our toes those little waves of feeling come, crash, fall away, go over and again: the house we used to know the place we called home
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ABOUT the authorEmily Clare Sims is a farmer and mama to three young boys. Each day she looks for ways to notice beauty, contemplate her faith and savour the seasons... Categories
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March 2023
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