Soft misty Sunday
It’s a soft misty Sunday and the rain
Is as fine as an infants hair
Nature breathes in and breathes out
On the path that leads through the fields
And down to the sea at the end
Where a deserted beach lies waiting
For walkers and dogs in the morning
A Sunday service for believers
It’s the beauty of nature and its power
Thats heals the sad and the wounded
While all the time the drumming of drops
As they fall on the grasses and flowers.
Washes the weeds and the brambles
The blackcurrants slowly mature
Turning from bright red to deep black
Food for the birds and the hikers.
Now the rain’s pouring down
As the weatherman promised
But dry as a duck in a bright plastic mac
The harder it falls, the better I feel.
The dogs sniff the air, their noses a twitch
For the perfumes released
From the plants and the flowers
Now that the shower is over.
It’s a ‘soft day’ they say in the west
It’s a blessing that’s come in disguise
I’ll wander the laneways of Carne
Feeling happy, contented and blessed.
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