Flying Ants

A tiny droplet of orange
lands on my hand
as I sit reading in the shade

Looking up, expecting to see a bird closing its bomb doors
I see nothing but the blue
and the surrounding hug of the trees’ canopy

I reach down to the grass
to wipe away the perfect hit
and there this moment expands

A plump bumblebee belies gravity
by bouncing atop the grass
and for a brief spell inhabits my back pack

Beneath almost every tree
bluebells huddle and wave
as a solitary white butterfly says hello

There is a breeze of Mediterranean texture
yet thoroughly English in its philosophy
as blackbirds applaud the wood pigeon’s haiku

As the village clock strikes the hour
I notice there is more litter than last year
and more noise too

Over yonder, where I had planned to stroll
is becoming overrun by sunshine escapists
like a plague of flying ants

I’ll sit here a while longer and read
but first I’ll put aside my thoughts
and stroll to the café for a hot chocolate.