Unpromising Day

As they often do, days start out uncertain, anxious, full of foreboding.
Today, the arrival of the post woman only increased
that sense of dread I've relearned, too quickly.
Fatal brown envelope lay in my hand between junk and my railcard.
Daughter-in-law opened the envelope.
I saw the tremor of her fingers as she tried to tear along the fold.
As usual my role is that of "sure and stedfast" rock,
but I'm struggling to fulfill it.

We waded through the jargon, the welter of figures that
seem randomly plucked, to the nub.
They accept my son is ill, that he needs space,
may eventually be well again.
But for now, he doesn't have to endlessly recount the horrors,
push down the nausea, justify himself to ignorant pen pushers.
I sagged onto her shoulder, shouted, silently,
"Thank You" to the sky.

The whole day changed.

Son appeared, zombie like,
and took a while to assimilate the news.
The weight gradually lifted as the import filtered through
clogged synapses.
Now, I could enjoy, really enjoy just standing, watching,
Red Admirals, delicate proboscis probing each sac of the buddleia,
Dragonflies, whisking the air, and pick lavender and bay.

Cloudscapes change from louring to sunlight and at last I can feel
a sense of genuine happiness,or rather contentment.
Not quite the same thing.

That night, while three fifths of the family were out,
I sat outside with a wee libation, and sang, realising that there
was no other human near enough to hear me.
The only accompaniment was the trickle of circulating water,
in the pond and trees silent after the wind dropped,
Inky black sky, punctured by pin pricks, with no orange, city glare.
I switched off the lights and sat in real darkness.
Moths, who had cavorted around the lamps, were disorientated
and threw themselves against the glass.

Apart from a sleeping young boy, I was alone,
liberated rather than scared.

Photogragh by J.Taylor