Last summer in the vertical heat of a noon sun,
I walked – my doctor had told me to walk – the streets near our house.
I couldn’t manage farther, knocked back by surgery.
Under beating rays, sweat beads came easily, trickling my temples.
Each corner familiar from 22 years, 
Each day same sights same pace, a ritual.
I was never so happy as that summer, cancer notwithstanding.
A gift full days and weeks of time, alone, with friends, for me to fill with words and music.
Withstanding cancer, I walked the streets near our house.
My unhurried pace delivered contemplation,
New sights same place, a ritual.
Vacant lot on the new street waiting for a house
Nature meantime filling out the space, expansive, verdant, rampant.
The undergrowth squeaking bud and leaf,
Empowered by the same vertical sun.
Deep in the green tangled growth, smoldering ochre shone.
I waded out among the weeds, closer craving intensity.
Such earthly suns seared the wax dripping from my wings.

Today outside my window the lifeless scraggy end of grey winter lingers.
This photograph of Black-eyed Susans warms my smile.

Alastair McIvor 2017