The smell of summer mud drifts in from the Estuary,
invites itself into the village,
wearing flowers for a crown.
It proclaims June
and beetles free themselves from my winter sleeves.
And the bees, living in the chimney, bow and buzz
in the ecstasy of the mud’s arrival;
the tide singing along to the ferocious wonder
of honeycomb becoming sticky —
the sweetness of grass stains in mosaic across our knees
as we adorn our summer skins,
smelling of want and soil.
And the warmth of giving in to the frolicking child
thawing between our ribs –
a smile blooming on their sun lit face.