Hammock Interlude

Travels round the world from my hammock, slung between two cherry trees in my garden. Falling in and out, of late afternoon slumber. Circumnavigating the world, contemplating places that I have never been and am never likely to go. From this hammock I can travel anywhere without all the inconvenience and expense of actually having to go there.

Here I sway, sipping on a well-chilled, crisp and fruity white Sancerre wine, contemplating (again) the cherries in the high branches, ripened black with the late spring sun. Gorged with sugar, they will be bitter sweet, their taste will dance on my tongue. Every year, they grow in abundance, this fruit, not of my labour.

Tomorrow, I shall extricate the long ladder from somewhere deep in the mess that is my garage. I shall climb high in the tree and begin the harvest. For now though I shall lie here, and continue my travels, safe in the knowledge that I am having good, cherry-picking resolutions.

This has moved me to poetry

Lying,

Snoozing,

In my hammock

Out the sun,

‘Neath the shade of cherry trees

‘Twixt what

My hammock has been slung.

 

Circumnavigate and globetrot

As here I gently sway,

All at sea,

Just with me

On a perfect hammock day.

 

 

Lost in May 2011

 

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