The trail home

He’s running two hours late, but I don’t mind.
I’m thankful that he’s on his merry way
with all those tools he reckoned he could find
in cupboards, mostly; tack-nails from his tray.

‘Hullo!’ That old announcement, with a grin,
a hearty wave across my office space.
He’s been outdoors a lot, it seems: his skin
is tanned and slightly freckled on his face.

The cut-off time for noisy work is 6.
It’s 5 already, so we set about
defining themes and patterns, where to fix
the default height, how best to set it out.

Decisions made, he works along the hall
until the forest sculpture trail is laid:
the massive cone, the peeping fish, and all
the wiry fallow deer in summer glade.

The photos gleam in mainly brown and green,
enticing me, recovering, to roam
through all those woods, from sculpted scene to scene
while feeling grateful that I’m here, I’m home.