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May Ivimy

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The Balloon

They left in that flurry of fondness departure excites.
It had been so nice, so good, we had all enjoyed it, hadn’t we?
And we must do it again, the afternoon, the children;
How they grow, and when we see them again, they will have changed.
We can never do it again, that afternoon.

The last of the cars slid away, waving,
And in the quiet our hands slipped together and we noticed the sun
Reddening, suspended, at the other side of the field above the wood,
And the blue mist rising to meet it.

Then we saw the balloon, a solemn grey pear, a long way away,
But silently growing, silently coming to us, cradled on a drift from the west.
The narrow tarmac’d lane was empty.
The great field murmured its rosy green and swathe of mist.

I won’t wait for the balloon, I said, it will be ages,
And you said, I’ll put away the chairs, lock up before dark,
And a coolness flung itself around our feet and the primroses ushered a scent,
And a cat leapt eagerly about the grass, drawing me
Back and down to the house.

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