When the surrounding din and commotion of at least four sets
of building work in our near vicinity,
all intrusively audible in our garden,
(not counting our own comparatively quiet roofing work
where the only noise is of the careful tapping of slates into battens),
gets too aggravating,
and when even yesterday's Pilates class in a hall,
was disturbed by angle grinding and clanking scaffolding poles
in the church above,
I come inside and look at pictures of a beach in flower
and marvel at the patience of the person who built this
dry stone obelisk.
They must really have been in the flow.
A state that is almost impossible to achieve at present.
Although I did come near to it yesterday
while hemming sheets for a cot and a crib.