Whisper Touch Poem by Diana van den Berg

Today, there were three thunderstorms
spaced out over the day,
unusual for here
and held me out of my work
as I don’t risk the life
of Lilian, my laptop
during lightning.

I love these greygreen days
that weep their sorrows
in release and relief
and caress the earth
and its trees
and flowers
and bushes
and grass
with their tears
and perfume the air
and earth and greenery
with their compassion.

I wrap these days around me
like a prayer shawl
with a wild rider’s pin
to hold it in place
and I touch the pin
with quiver-nostalgia
and sad-smile whispers
at the loss
and lift my sky-eyes
to the aching clouds peeping
through the topmost branches
of my forest friends,
and the soft wind
echoes the songs
and the laughter
and the flavours
and the grit
and the trembling love
and the enchantment
we found
and dared to sing.

Those were the days, my friend.