An Island Of Our Own

Lights are low,
rain is falling,
forest duff is sleeping
while sky-water capilaries,
seeping, feeding, soaking,
nurture the forest
in readiness for another spring.

We meditate in sheltered
shadows resting
with tall trees and fauna
who never wonder
whether more is to be done.

We may stir the fire
pour a steaming cup,
settle back with a book,
the eaves and trees
are dripping,
rain barrel beside the steps
overflowing,
until returns the sun,

we simply occupy a place by the fire
in diplomatic immunity
on an island of our own.