a deep warm burnt orange (poem)

the smell of baking bread in a loved one's farmhouse kitchen
welcome - rich - holding promise
perhaps a rusk as when we're small
it sounds a silent gong like the sun at dawn
watches patient - speaks in light
it will always be
waiting to be found

A. H (20th February 2021)

written at a lovely writing for wellbeing workshop, the exercise was to think of a colour but to describe it to someone that could not see it. A very enjoyable exercise.

I’ve not been writing as much. I feel a need to not just spew words but to treat them more carefully and to ensure there is enough love in them. But I liked this when I got it and I think it has some love, much as I need to find this warm orange (that in my imagination is a bit more yellow today — and can a rusk be deep orange, I think so, hmmm, but am going with it). ‘Enough love in them’, strangely I think love is in everything somehow, I need to think about this, though thought can get in the way of poems — and love can appear absent, or be denied, or ignored (apparently).

It’d be nice to find such a kitchen and bake bread and poems, nourishing love. It is a change I try to work towards, but my steps are tiny and constrained at the moment.

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