At the head of the table,
covered in yellow and white checked oil cloth,
brother-in law sits,
window seat behind him.
At the other end,
the kitchen end, where all the goodness flows from,
my sister sits in speckled apron.
Their sons and wives and grandchildren
gathered close around them,
all come to say goodbye to
this place this home this land
of trees,
oak and ash
apple and pear
this ancient land of white churt stone
grazing sheep,
roaming squashes
and upright leeks.
Bowls of home grown vegetables
home made sausages
fill the table and our plates.
And in the centre there is another bowl
a container of acorns
shiny brown or glossy green, big or small,
in holding cups
or set free,
collected that morning
by one son and his son
from the autumn leaved ground.
It passes between us -
little fingers, smooth fingers
ringed fingers,
lined fingers,
stained and calloused fingers,
sore bent fingers
choose an acorn each,
and roll it and hold it.
Each in turn,
even the little ones,
we tell the story of our memories,
of this place, this home, this land,
over twenty years
nurtured and loved and shared.
The birthday parties, the rituals, the burning fires,
the wake and the wedding,
Easter egg hunts, Christmas feasting,
summer BBQs,
the singing, the laughing, the tears, the dancing
and all that food and cooking
and washing up,
all that talking
and listening and playing.
and growing.
All held in the acorn cup of their wide generous hearts
now letting it go
passing it on to
the next caretakers
of this place, this home this land.
Leaving it and us
a better place,
better people.
Thank you Jane and Dave.
