River run

I slip in, 

swim cold through its deep swerve

Just for now, I’m free.     

 

I come home

The tulips I left in the green vase

are drooping and dead.     

 

I lie here on the floor

the sliver of sunlight through shutters

is my worldview.     

 

The landscape of my bed

spreads out in cruel mockery

shaped only by my daytime tossing and turning.     

 

Tiny red jewels

Alpine strawberries on my windowsill

two floors up.     

 

My window 

One third waving green branches

One third tall fluffy clouds

One third June blue.      

 

All day the chattering 

of the bluetits at my window. 

I’m not alone.     

 

On another hospital exam bed

as they image my body 

in yet more ways.     

 

Listening to Taylor Swift

on the summer wind

leaves me cold.

I’m old.     

 

A ritual: close shutters, light candles

Mind-full

and mind emptying.     

 

Fingers in the soil.

Gardening in the fresh air

In my windowbox.     

 

Wet green leaves shine

the bright summer afternoon

against the dark grey sky.     

 

Evening. The slow fall of the June sun

towards the Forth

far away.     

 

Happy because

the woodpecker visited the window feeder

for the first time.     

 

Eyes following a waterfall

down the window 

in this summer downpour.     

 

Pink and white roses

and yellow roses

and one a velvet deep purple

scented like the past.     

 

The great tits are industriously

throwing out sunflower seeds

to find the last peanuts.     

 

Shadows on the wall

mean it’s sunny outside.     

 

How to describe different greens?

Enough to say

willow, cherry, birch.     

 

In the cool dawn window air

I dream of sunrise

from a bothy doorstep.     

 

Swifts wheeling against the morning blue

My heart soars too

but they’re so few, now.     

 

Windowbox parsley dances in the wind

Bedside candle flame blows out.     

 

Dysautonomia 

All day my heart’s beat

like a wild bird in a cage

while I keep trying to rest.     

 

Summer is lying

in the sun

on the floor

by the window

wearing shades.     

 

A friend brings allotment rhubarb

cleans and stews it for me. 

Perfect.     

 

Planting out seedlings

Hoping for survival

and growth.     

 

In next door’s garden

the fox scratching her belly

stares calmly at me.     

 

I cooked for myself again

A sour-sweet crumble

of friend-gifted gooseberries.     

 

My 78 year old mother

mopped my floor again

because I can’t.     

 

Waning quarter moon

Between scudding morning clouds

How will I be next month?     

 

Facetiming family 

halfway round the world

nibling giggles

sibling care.     

 

‘How was your weekend?’

makes my heart sink.

Weekends aren’t weekends anymore.     

 

Webcam osprey dramas and wild views

 – a substitute life.     

 

Watching the neighbours

Hunchbacked fluff balls with stick legs

Gull chicks growing.     

 

Care I

Mum never visits

emptyhanded.     

 

Care II

Homemade soup from a friend.     

 

Blow wind, come wrack, 

we’re still in harness. 

What price systemic change?      

 

One stitch at a time

and over years

I’m cripping my own wardrobe.     

 

My friends keep in touch

in ways that work.

Virtual connection is real.     

 

The blackbird’s still calling

its alarm

 – I look for the magpie. 

   

No one’s hanging out 

their washing today

But my seedlings are happy.     

 

I meditate on 

the gulls sitting

the swifts flitting

the clouds drifting.     

 

I track breakfast as a workout

and Garmin says

I need 12 hours recovery.     

 

Five fledgling great tits

fall over each other

and off the feeder.     

 

Treasure the old friend

who knows what attitude to bring

and when to leave.     

 

Stir the deep murky waters of sleep

and what rises up?     

 

Scenes in the back green!

Fox chases fallen gull chick

Adult gulls chase fox.     

 

The distant dream 

of a healthy nervous system.

I wish I could rest.     

 

Six weeks since I left home.

Today another hospital scan.     

 

How do you live well

when everything makes you sicker?     

 

Chronic illness life

Today I hung up

yesterday’s laundry

Tomorrow I might shower.     

 

Climbing roses, craft chat

and swapping musty green Penguins

 – catch up time.     

 

Anticipation

  – waiting for the gull chicks

to stop flapping and fly.     

 

I don’t believe in trauma

but I think it might believe in me.     

 

First flight! Gulls soaring

and calling support to one

new fledged chick – joyous.     

 

A year of daily Insight Timer

Still sick!      

 

Pick lemonbalm from

the windowbox, make hot tea

and hope to sleep well.     

 

Always strange to be awake

before dawn in summer

 – insomnia.     

 

Everyone is on holiday

and I’m still trapped.

Fifth summer now.     

 

This illness prison

is worse in summer.

I wish I could be outside.     

 

Always the worry when

symptoms surge.

No doctors help

 – get on with it.     

 

Waning crescent moon

hangs high in morning sky

the clouds pass by below.     

 

Gift of ripe pink plums – 

Lúnasa heralds harvest

and autumn relief.     

 

A rare robin perched

awkwardly on the feeder

I smile in welcome.     

 

Scent of yeast and malt

reminds me the auld city

is breathing still.     

 

A calf, a seahorse,

an angel cat, two mountains

and rain – cloudspotting.     

 

Early sun on the side of a gull’s wing

tipped up to turn it away.     

 

Open window creaks

in the summer wind

Cool breeze flows in, and sun.     

 

Worldle in 2!

AND C didn’t get it today

 – a small win

but fun.     

 

Hooray for good books

I might not be here today

without good stories.     

 

Sudden evening roar

 – Red Arrows fly past for the 

tourists in town.     

 

Long tailed tits clinging 

to the feeder that sways wild

in the summer wind.     

 

Dark like evening – sky

flashes, distant rumbling and

the storm has passed by.     

 

Lighting a candle 

for pain in the world out there

and for mine in here.     

 

A beer in the sun

at a Fringe venue?

 – grief for what I’m exiled from.     

 

Incoming yellow 

feathered bullet from tree

to window – hungry bird.     

 

Tired of the loud wind 

and shutting the window at

night so I can sleep.     

 

My brother visits 

is a star doing chores

while I hang with his dog.     

 

Doodling – making 

mark after mark after mark 

black on white paper.     

 

Sleepy or tired or 

fatigued or exhausted or 

worn out or drained – yes.     

 

Crip community – 

love, honesty, understanding 

and belly laughs.     

 

Hands stretch and turn dough,

tuck it into bowl to rise,

slowly, overnight.     

 

From fridge to oven

the rested loaf bakes just fine

slow bread is good bread.     

 

Drove today at last 

 – only round the corner 

to charge the battery.     

 

Cool early morning, 

first yellow on the willow 

here comes my autumn.     

 

Can’t believe it’s taken this long 

to write a haiku 

about coffee.     

 

I only get out 

for medical appointments.

Worst summer ever.     

 

Video calls with 

friends far flung in the world

I love this internet.     

 

I love the line of light

that moves down the buildings

as the sun rises.     

 

At last the wind’s stopped

and last night I could sleep

with the window open.     

 

A friend brings a slice 

of her special birthday cake

Spoonies celebrate.     

 

Haar, like a ghost in the city

or the city is the ghost

or I am.     

 

Morning worship.

 – moka pot on the gas flame, 

waiting for good coffee.     

 

Joyous flutter and 

tumble of long tailed tits

all over the feeder.     

 

Every morning I

sit by my window and breathe

and watch my small world.     

 

How do I finish?

I’ve marked summer’s time with words

and now it’s over.