Apricots


Out of the chokehold of winter,
Riding on the wing of a falcon,
Over half frozen lakes
Like Thumbelina on the swallow’s back
En route to paradise,

Travelling in circles on a silver steed, 
Hand in hand beside the lake 
And into the bay, 
Searching for the boulevard of the King;
Marking a path to the coach house
Under an afternoon sun.

Fantasy swapped for reality
At a long awaited feast,
Painted transparent
And opened to a whole new world,
Riding in on a Kentucky race horse
Far from the Derby 

Trading morning 
For fresh squeezed memories,
With the lingering scent 
Of apricots 
 

Janet Reid
january 2009