Sunday people bike or walk for miles
under a wool-grey sky, a warm-as-bread breeze
rising over rocky outcrops, dissolving the day
fast as holy wafers on tongues.
Sunday people leave bad news, regret
moored to the past, set sail
on a sea the colour of slate,
smooth as pebbles whispering
over and over Pors Pin Bay lapped white
as the gull wheeling to a fleck of dust.
Sunday people stop to breathe
pine and larch crouched on a far hill,
patient as dogs waiting
for a shepherd’s call to gather flocks.
And here with you sketching
I watch the turn of your hand,
pen gliding paper – ink taking hold
of clouds, a skein of geese,
a fishing boat ploughing through water
like the prodigal son coming home
to thickets of oak and sloe, a table laid,
forgiving moments hauling us back to earth.
© 2018, Kerry Darbishire
Editor’s note: This poem is included in Kerry’s new poetry collection, Distance is Sweet on My Tongue (Indigo Dreams, 2018)
The BeZine 
The beauty and balance of nature provide much needed healing—my wife and I often hike with our children here in Israel. It is soothing, and the people on the trails greet each other with smiles (Jews, Palestinians, visitors).
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