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Well Earned Rest. . It’s nice To eventually Slow down And know That all your jobs are completed. . .

Good Morning. . . Waking up on a May morning To see bright squares of sunshine Decorating the creamy folds Of long bedroom curtains. . .

Chilled. . , It’s all those Little things. The beer The popcorn And the recently recorded film, That add up to complete pleasure. . .

Music. . . Today was grand, I seemed to be Accompanied By continual birdsong. . .    

Worth Every Penny. . It’s nice when The window cleaner’s been And everything outside Is suddenly brighter. . .

Nice One. . Deciding to do something You have not done for years And finding out that You are still bloody good at it. . .

Near Miss. . Thank goodness We suddenly saw the frog Crossing the path before us In time to avoid hurting him. . .

Top Of The Morning. . Winnie the pooh Could not have had One inch more pleasure Than I did this morning, Opening a jar of thick honey To slather on my warm toast. . .

Spotted Dog. . Meeting a little spotted dog All liquid eyes , fuzzy fur and panting, By the time his master called him back I felt so much better about everything. . .

Perfect Moment. . . Hey, called the voice, Do you want a cup of Yogi Tea While you read your book in bed. Howzat for a perfect moment. . .

Instant Gratification. . . Such a thirst on me That I poured a pint Of fresh, ice-cold water, And downed it in one. . .

Snack. . . It’s not fine dining, But oatmeal biscuits With Feta cheese, Vine tomatoes And a nice cuppa, Just does me proud. . .

Just Like It Says On The Box. . . You see the advert You buy the product And isn’t it bloody great When it actually does work . .

Ahhhh. . . A day of hoovering Dusting and cleaning Just takes the biscuit, But the bit at the end, With a cuppa, and my feet up, Had real and heartfelt meaning. . .

Pumpkin Time. . . To be snugly in bed At the very last moment As the clock strikes twelve To end the day . .

Oh Bliss, Oh Poop. . . The top is down, The sun is shining, The wind is tousling my hair Like a playful lover . .

Messages. . . Strange the sounds In the dead of night Taking on an importance Ignored in the day . .

Like A Boy Scout. . . Every library book we had chosen Was just complete crap Good job I had a new one Put away for a rainy day . .

Special Delivery. . . Answering a knock at the door In the middle of cleaning the cooker To find a delivery man standing there With something I ordered from TK Max. . .

The Scent Of Paper. . . The pleasure to be had In retiring early to bed To read a brand new book That no-one else has opened. . .

Hard Work. . . My God, we went for a walk And I had to climb a bloody hill. I have to say though That it is good to get a new viewpoint. . .

Picture Perfect. . . Walking by the river A sudden shaft of sunlight Lit up a single tree With bark that looked like raw silk . .

Cuppus Interruptus. . . What an extra-fabulous cup of tea I made myself this morning, Why does that always happen When I have to rush away and leave it. . .

Wet. . . It may be pouring But it raises a smile To see the hanging baskets Trembling in the rain . .

Just Look. . . Upon the purple Buddlia Lie opened butterflies Like Faberge jewels Upon a royal bed . .

Fall. . . How beautiful The changing trees are, Almost, but not quite, Worth the winter. . .

An Inspired Purchase. . . Leopardskin boots Peeping from blue jeans Each time I put My best foot forwards . .

A Timely Reminder. . . It was a buzz To open up the computer And find a letter From an old friend in France Extolling the many benefits To be obtained from eating honey . .

In The Moment. . . Sometimes imagining A wonderful thing Is almost as good As having it happen . .

Looking For Eric. . . Watching a brilliant film That made me laugh so much I was still smiling On my way to bed . . .Link to , with video film trailer.

At Noon. . Fine dust rises Powdered in the air As we walk the path That leads to the riverside . .

Brekkie. . . Using my spoon To smack the top Of a perfect Four minute egg . .

Perfect Timing. . . Having an enjoyable Walk in the country And getting back home again Just as the rain begins . .

Small Child. . . Well remembered emotions, To have a child’s tiny hand Placed unhesitatingly in mine With such an innocent trust. . .

Obviously A Convoluted Plot. . . I substituted the book Waiting on Big H’s  pillow With a similar looking book, Opened at about the same place, And he just read it ’til he went to sleep I couldn’t stop laughing . .

So Smooth. . . Shooting off in the car To keep a hospital appointment, Only to end up stuck In a bloody traffic jam. How wonderful to reach A crowded car park With only minutes to spare, to find An empty place appear as if by magic. . .

Ducking And Diving. . So many little ducks Racing at the edge of the water Disappearing for long seconds Beneath the weir swell . .

Old Time tastes. . . Having thick buttered toast And fresh comb honey With cinnamon powder Scattered upon it For the first time Since I was a child . .

All Fur Coat. . . When the room grew chill I was fascinated to feel All the hairs on my arms Slowly stand up straight . .

A Pale Dawn. . . It is a pale dawn today Faded out by soft mists, Almost like a dress rehearsal For the real thing. . .

OK Now. . . How wonderful to meet a friend Who’s been going through it And have them tell you That ‘everything’s gonna be allright’ . .

Bluer Than Blue Dream. . . Thigh high boots Are the stuff of dreams, Especially when Donald Sutherland Is prancing about in them .

Five Percent Shrinkage. . . The entirely mad enthusiasm That suddenly grips At the prospect of a long walk In a world of pouring rain . .

After the Rains. . . How exhilarating to stand Upon a wind lashed bridge Watching the frenzied rush Of swollen red-brown waters . .

Bliss. . . Sliding into a heated, Freshly changed bed, With nothing else to do But snuggle down and sleep. . .

End Of Day. . . Sitting on a windowsill Watching pale pink clouds Slowly change their colour As the sun goes down . .

Food Porn. . . My lap is filled with cookery books As I leaf through the recipes, Enjoying the pictures of dishes That I could never be bothered to cook. . .

Ruck. . . Listening to the crows Outside my bedroom window Like a group of teenagers Squabbling for the very fun of it . .

Being Greedy. . . Dumping a huge carton Of Bio-Yogurt Onto my breakfast cereal Before I ate the lot . .

Just One More Minute. . . Waking up On a cold And frosty morning Makes the last few moments Under the duvet Irresistible . .