In the evening calm, white on blue, rippled cloud,
as sand is corrugated by the churning of sea water,
or the ladder makes its shadow on the white-washed wall.
The birds are flying homeward, the sun is going down,
the cat is sitting soberly upon the garden wall.
Angela is cooking Italian food tonight;
I taste al dente pasta, the cat covets the cheese;
Tineke sorts photos - her snaps of butterflies.
What a happy company; tonight we shall chant.
The day’s work is done: plants planted, grass cut;
who could say we’re not industrious?
Tonight we’ll sleep soundly a well earned rest
and dream of a thousand tomorrows.

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