The Cottage

“the smell of earth turned by a trowel…”

I’ve grown quiet here. My mind
has opened to woodsong
and the smell of earth turned
by a trowel.

I enjoy solitude, even when regrets
or the throb of an old lover happen by.
Sometimes I invite them in, make
a ritual of teacups on starched linen,
a silver server for the scones.
We reminisce ’til shadows trace
across the floor, call them away.

Afterwards, I tidy up, wipe away
drops spilled in the pouring. I save
the leftovers though they’re getting stale.
I may crumble them on the porch rail
tomorrow for sparrows
before I garden.

– Sarah Russell
First published in Poetry Breakfast
For Real Toads Tuesday Platform
Photo courtesy of Daisy Fields on Pinterest

52 thoughts on “The Cottage

  1. This poem evokes so much – memories of past lovers, long gone friends. I find your solitude to not be lonely though. I like the scattering of crumbs for the sparrows. They are indeed the best partakers of what you offer in this wonderful poem.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. kaykuala

    We reminisce ’til shadows trace
    across the floor, call them away.

    Sadly good times never last. As long as it is accepted with good faith it makes it more interesting!

    Hank

    Liked by 1 person

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