Monday, July 11, 2016


This is a bit of a departure for the Wetland blog - poetry. July was my mother's month. Not only was it the month of her birth, it was also her favourite time of the year.  She loved the sun, the warmth and revelled in the return of the foliage, the fauna and her feathered friends.

This is my tribute to her, remembering and missing her this July, Marion Terry White, July 25, 1931 - March 5, 2015.


On these summer mornings
so lush and
achingly lovely, wrapped in their hazy veils
heavy-lidded in the slumbering heat
fleeting and therefore precious
I often think that my mother is still alive
tending her garden
bending over the bedding plants
parting the shrubbery with her hands
watchful, vigilant, protective
or listening at the open window
a joy rising in her to see the birds
take wing
thrilling at the wren’s song
watching the hummingbirds
sup, stroking the dog’s head
slowly all the while
he, faithful and adoring at her side
she, taking it all in –  the bumblebees in the black-eyed-susans
the cicadas in the trees
I almost expect to hear the phone ring
the excited voice, telling me some tale
about her day – the strawberries washed and sugared
the peonies clipped
the dog walked and oh, I saw a deer!
How are you? What are you up to today?
What are you working on?

Today I am working on remembering
today that is my job, my sole task
all others I sweep impatiently aside
so that I may stay with these memories
and revive summers past
a vain attempt, I know, to make it real again
to somehow give her
one more summer day.

©Victoria White, July 7, 2016

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