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Long shadows<\/strong><\/p>\n Who would have thought my life <\/p>\n <\/p>\n Marilyn Hammick<\/strong> writes at home in England and France, and can also be found stitching, walking or on her yoga mat. Her poems have appeared in Prole, The Linnet\u2019s Wings,The Interpreter\u2019s House<\/em> and in other print and online journals.\u00a0\u00a0 Follow her on Twitter @trywords and at http:\/\/glowwormcreative.blogspot.co.uk\u00a0 <\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Long shadows Who would have thought my life would be like this at eight o’clock, on a Friday, mid July. Supper for one: two poached eggs, a grilled tomato, leftover fruit salad, ditto white wine, dog-sitting for our son et belle-fille, watching the last rays splash the Pyrenees, waiting for black redstarts […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_et_pb_use_builder":"","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-8414","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-prose-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8414","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=8414"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8414\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":8415,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/8414\/revisions\/8415"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=8414"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=8414"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/inksweatandtears.co.uk\/archive\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=8414"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\nwould be like this at eight o’clock,
\non a Friday, mid July. Supper for one:
\ntwo poached eggs, a grilled tomato,
\nleftover fruit salad, ditto white wine,
\ndog-sitting for our son et belle-fille,
\nwatching the last rays splash the Pyrenees,
\nwaiting for black redstarts to call home their young.
\nIt’s peaceful and with purpose
\n– in a while I’ll feed the cats, put the hens to bed,
\nwater the garden, pick berries for breakfast,
\nlose myself in another good book
\nthis Friday, this July, at eight o’clock.
\nWithout you. Who would have thought?<\/p>\n