breakfast in a summer garden

breakfast in a summer garden

as the gulls chide and gargle 

far away in the bay,

and the bees bob happily

up and down red bean way,

and the rooks across the meadow

brouhaha in their greens;

a wistful of sunshine

warms its way through the haze.

when my breakfast-table nasturtium,

its flowers dotting the vine,

shares this perfect, lobelia, breakfast of mine;

for this is the way that it always has been,

as on and on the weather falls fine,

slow, long and languid, on

this summer morning in time,

as it settles down sleepily,

mind’s brush in hand,

to paint on this year’s canvas 

the most perfect morning of days.