I remember a time when mom, dad and I
sat down on our raincoats and looked at the sky
where dark clouds were hurrying on to the sea
leaving a rainbow becalmed in their lee.
We quickly decided that none of us knew
how to tell indigo, violet and blue.
As the sun dried our socks, cooking up steam
I absently knocked my left boot in the stream.
Mom opened the thermos and poured us a tea
Dad handed out biscuits, extra for me.
And I stroked the fresh rain off green bracken leaves,
held up my hands, let it run down my sleeves.
The last tiny cloud winked the sun solemnly,
sharing the good world with mom, dad and me.