The Gite

No dog days.
Just a roaming dog giving love freely.

Two chickens: one bold, one shy both free to peck at will.

A fishing lake chock full of carp
The flash of scales occasionally breaking the glassy waters.

Pond skaters skidding on the surface tension.

Lakeside portraits in sepia as the sun goes down.

A grassy bank made good in tartan.

Breakfast al fresco.

Fish cooked on charcoal.

Rich reds in our living room.

A wooden staircase leads to the bedroom, where
supporting beams hold the up the room of our love.

Naked we roll in an earthy bed that smells of smoke and soon the rich smells of us entwined.

Star gazing and the milky way overhead.
A million tiny lights twinkle on and off.

You create a home from home.
Your domestic bliss envelopes me.

Birdsong, sweet and melodic fills the hours.

A millpond at dawn, the stillness broken by a silent beaver, rod straight, stealthy, calm.

A smile when you wake and before you sleep.

Love on the lips and
on the tip of my tongue.