The Acorn Cup...This Place This Home This land

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.