My mother is an aviary…

My mother is an aviary as full of light                           as full of shadow.  Turquoise in summer takes rooms by the sea to watch herring gulls, star- billed soarers glide thermals. Riding waves below Arcadia, Aurora, Andalusian Dream, and Tamar Belle, the St Mawes Ferry, workaday bones for the open ocean.  Allusions to a literary lunch […]