Notebook

The Heather Blooms

Now, mother, the heather blooms,
for the first time in this world
without you.

Only for you
the fields were gleaming,
the colour of amethyst.

They lay there in wait
for a word of praise from you,
the utterly generous.

Not even the tiniest knoll
went unthanked
after an encounter with you.

Åse-Marie Nesse