A Collective Heaven
If heaven exists I think it will be a bluebell wood, it will always be late April, and the sun will always be just coming up.
There will be a joyous dawn chorus and there'll be the sound of nearby running water.
I asked people on Facebook what ingredients would be in their own personal heaven. I made this poem from the suggestions, taking them more or less 'as is'.
Get this
a collective heaven
curlew call, my grandmother, a bacon butty
swallows in puddles by the Co-op
meandering footpath, fly agaric
wood pigeon calls “coo coo boogaloo”
cat purring on my lap, rooibos tea
fragrance of cowslips and gorse
a ripe apple fallen in the first frost
sunrise through a tent doorway
blackbird's evening song, new notebook
laughing in surf, skylarks singing
fat pigeons stuffing their faces
new leaves to dance our troubles away
dappled cool and fresh, woodsmoke, mist
never ending summer country lane
someone to take the bloody windchimes down!
a ladybird’s first spring outing
loved ones, magique and magic
mown grass, unfurling ferns
no ticks in a bluebell wood
minty morning breeze on my face
kingfishers, butterflies and wasps
campions, morning dew, flapjacks
a bee trusting my hand
moss to lie on and my body able to lie on it
bark sensations, cake, petrichor
holding dad’s hand on the Sussex downs
and wafts of hawthorn blossom please
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