Honey gold Sundays

A lazy beginning to the day,

a warm breeze Sunday

in which we combine our bodies

and honey gold souls to the sounds

of birds in the trees

before a cup of tea,

a shower of kisses

and a walk into the village –

a visit to the cemetery to read

the unforgotten names

and replace the flower pots battered

by yesterday’s winds –

you take my hand upon leaving,

promise to die before me

because you couldn’t live without

this, these kinds of Sundays

in which we browse bookshops

and small corners full of trinkets

and people-watch in the pub –

having eaten too much,

eyes bigger than bellies –

before heading home

past the church and train tracks,

stopping at the Co-op for lemon

and today’s paper –

smiling as I gush at the

‘free’ tea-cup flowerpot left

on a garden wall, letting me

take it as long as I carry it –

and the pain of being full

dissipates as I clutch the

oversized tea-cup to my chest

and walk home with you –

to catnap, no doubt –

the man who has always

understood it is the littlest things

like this, which make me

the happiest I’ve been in a while.


In response to day 12: perfect, #rainasmprompts


Photograph & poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019

Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US

Available internationally

2 thoughts on “Honey gold Sundays

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