Sally Richards

Spring at Hopesay

Yellow moving;
the quivering dance of petals catches her,
captures memories
pulls them forward ...

the banks at Hopesay,
Childhood fun, finding the frilly centred
yokey, and palest cream.
Highly scented narcissi a delicate favourite.

The energy of spring –
her heart lives
with the bloom of white cherry blossoms,
many years dancing beneath its confetti,
as tiny princess and bride
decked in net-curtain-veil.

with every flower another
some stronger, clearer:
the tiny stream
that flowed right through the back garden,
just deep enough to sail stick-boats
along, under, deeply weeping willow.

A magical place, Hopesay,
Her birthplace:
one hot Friday mid July;
no fish for dad that lunchtime!
Her sanctuary
(when school holidays allowed)
for comfort and respite.
She longs for it, for all it gave her:
nourishment, energy, peace,
love of family.

The further time takes her
from life within its embrace
the more vividly she hears the cuckoo
echoing through copper beach
cutting through misty morning
early spring.
She remembers
Where the aconites nestled
in the wood,
where primroses hid,
and how the bluebells rang their arrival.

Now inhabited
by some other family,
creating their own memories.
Many trees removed: copper beech, birch, gone,
perhaps along with them the nature spirits, Driads,
who fired her imagination;
the grotto where the fairies played.
Do they still remain
now that she is no longer there
to see?

Sally Richards © 2017


you arrive ..
pulled unceremoniously
by tiny legs into being, into knowing
silent –
no cries, with lungs full: fluid –filled.
Parents, family, give breath
to nine months of waiting,
let go tentatively of fearful anxiety.
Your tiny form early by three weeks,
every precious digit, hair, so longed for
now here.
Your sister’s spirit
surely with you;
ethereal sibling, angel Violet,
willing you into existence.
Precious child,
of the bravest parents,
so longed for, so loved.
We can breath ... you are here.

Sally Richards © 2017