Feeling Loved

This afternoon, I walked to the library
to collect a parcel my daughter had posted 
in late November, that was delivered 
to Cecílio yesterday.

Walked on into the middle of town, delighted
by the Christmas lights in the main square -
all shimmery white with blue accents,
and the castle on the hill, outlined
in strings of light.

Invited Mike to lay down his paint roller,
and join me for a drink at Lacerdas.
Chatted to the daughter while I waited.
Over a glass of red, opened the parcel -
a zine for my birthday,
(which was on the 27th of December),
from stripey brown paper,
with white wreaths, and wide orange 
and interlocking black circles:
"We love you! Lots."
(And I felt loved.)
A hairband strung with colours
and two books, surely
the best kind of present.
One is for Advent (past or future?)
The other is Naming God,
by Gideon Heugh.

This is the first poem I read,
aloud to Mike, when he arrived:

"Doing God's Work"

It was an idle kind of day.
I sat in the garden for unmarked time, 
watching the trees; watching the light
hovering among the leaves.
Later, I ate honey
spread thickly on bread.
I drank, slowly, a cold glass
of wine. I lay down
knowing that I had done God's work,
knowing that all was sanctified.

Afterwards, we walked home,
hand in hand,
the dark heavens
bright with planets and constellations.