I love the sound of the rain
During a maths test.
Where I can look out the window
And see nigh-horizontal strokes
Where the clouds have painted
Beauty across my vision.

I love the smell of roasted potato
On a bright Sunday morning.
Placed in the middle of a clean table,
Surrounded by fresh peas,
Yorkshire pudding and chicken.
A perfectly-crafted tapestry
By a smiling woman with water-colour eyes.

I love the sight of a shiny-backed beetle
As it trundles over pebbles and sand,
Unhurried, undisturbed.
The careful plodding of something so sure,
So intelligent of its position in life
It has no need to impress.
A bead in a chain for the neck of the land.

I love the taste of hot tea -
So hot it scalds the tongue,
And there is no taste left but a tang;
A slight papery tang that gives way
To the soft sculpture of sugar
Sitting primly in the mouth.

I love the feeling of waking up in the morning
And not looking back to the darkness -
Not once, not even a glance.
Waking up and feeling the world
And the masterpiece around.