Grateful
Blue skies, a brightly coloured tablecloth
Can mean only one thing, we are having a heatwave
Mother’s face covered in flour from bread making
Bright coloured balloons, outdoor living, picnics, barbeques
Steaks beaten to within an inch of being too thin
I hear the twelve thirty train passing at the back of our garden
Wondering how they are liking the heat inside those flying tin cans
Half of my mind wished I were in one of those carriages
On my way to a snow filled wonderland, Canada maybe
I decided to take a walk, slipping out of the back door
Crossing the small rail track through to the woods
The shade, the cooler air welcome
I hear a voice, no more than a whisper
Say where are you going, you must go back
I did not hear the whisper “Go back.”
Those last two words came back to me in the form of an echo
I was struck by a sudden feeling of urgency and rushed back
Everything seemed fine, until I couldn’t see my father
Searching, I found him collapsed in the shed
At the hospital I was told, if I had been five minutes later
The outcome would not have been so good
A mild heart attack
But whose voice sent me running back home?
This is something I will never know
Yet will remain forever grateful…
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