Slow

Slow

There is magic in these times of enforced retreat

Perhaps it was always there

But we were too busy to notice

Time stretches and contracts

Reshaping things in strange ways

Silver has appeared at my temples 

A sense that the crone days aren’t too far away

Wisdom inhabits this stillness

Joy hangs in the silence

The world exists in a one mile radius

As if a long forgotten age has returned

Everything is simple 

I plant seeds and delight in their slow progress

Only the bees are busy now