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Holiday rains

Eric and Caroline have come all the way from Alsace.
They are with their three kids: Justine, Valentine and Jean.
Rain greets them: Eric says they went for a long walk by Dunkeld,
to arrive soaked.
I tell them of the Wildlife Park, maybe Aviemore;
I feel somehow responsible that the kids are not smiling.
The next day is fine:
Museum, park, touring – plenty to do on a sunny day.
This morning rain drips from the house beams,
the wind blows ragged tunes around the house.
They bid goodbye from the bridge;
I am below working on the studio kitchen.
I ask Eric to tell the kids how good the rain is for the grass,
flowers, mushrooms, insects and birds,
how the pine woods are resin scented,
the bog myrtle astringent as balsam.
He smiles;
the kids don’t.
I observe it may be the last holiday as a family;
Caroline nods
that is why.

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