Summer

The day is warm, overcast. You
are in the yard with your father and I,
I am watching him extract stubborn weeds, while I
and my big pregnant belly look on from the grass.

You are playing with water. Water from the tap, from the hose,
water in your coloured buckets, in your tiny pink plastic watering can
You flip it at the dogs as they come curiously sniffing around you, giggling as they lick it from your hands
Fascinated, you tip it onto the dry ground,
pointing as it casts its fingers of deep brown among the dusty soil
exclaiming, "ahh! ohhh!" as it forms little puddles among the tufts of greenery
You rub your hands among it, bringing them away muddy
patting muddy hands into the dogs' backs, intent on your task while they stand, tails wagging, pleased to be patted
laughing as you upend a bucket on your baggy red pants, soaking them utterly

the sun emerges from behind the clouds. suddenly, it's hotter again
we all turn our faces upwards, cautious of the new heat
your father moves towards the sprinkler system, and with one turn of a switch
our world is overwhelmed with water, yours and mine
I'm soaked to the skin on the grass, as a I run, laughing, for the path
and you
are gasping and half-chuckling and half-confused in the spray
not quite able to see your way out
and you stop, still as stone, and call, "Mama?"
querying, seeking, unsure

and I swoop in to you, pressing you against my chest
here I am, sweetheart
you're sopping! but so is Mama, we will go inside and change, yes?

and you put your head on my shoulder, and smile, and say again, "Mama."
this time so full of trust, so certain
so contented.

what bright blessings, this summer.

- 23 January 2005