The Summer Blurs By Outside

The sun shines above us

inside us

we walk through Newbridge

her hand still small in mine

the metre of her voice questioning

or joyous exclamation

 

we had aimed to be aimless

and fill the day with beautiful, easy nothings

I watch her look

I watch her see

her hand still small in mine

but growing, gently growing

 

we drive home with the windows open

the summer blurs by outside

“Why is it called Newbridge Dad? It looks old.”

            “It was new once.”

“Like you!”

like me