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…

©AnitaDawes