Wine, WeedS and GigGleS

The sun has not yet stretched over the horizon,
This summer has turned unbearably hot, and you’re gone.
I sit smiling, as I replay the memories I have of you in my heart.
Wondering, stupidly, if you read my last travel postcard?
 
Your voice echoed through Studlands parking as we heaved our blue dinghy among the other boats.
“Your great aunt from America” said Dad. Yes, we’d gathered from those strangely pitched notes.
 
I remember our road trip, destination home, from Bybles through France all those years ago.
Giggles, wineries, moule frites and shared cheap rooms. You snored: but that we all secretly knew.
 
We sit in your garden - tea in hand, spread on your green chequered picnic mat.
You tell stories of life in Africa, query my choice of men, and curse the neighbour’s cat.
 
The weeds have followed your fierce independent streak: growing wherever their heart desire.
I want to be like you, unapologetically yourself, humble with that in-build fire.
 
As we eat our ice cream in Hyde Park - you smile cheekily and lick the dribble as we walked.
Your earnest loving look followed the ducks, geese, swans and pigeons as we talked.
 
The sun has made its way, passed noon, back to the edge of the horizon.
My eyes mist up as it all sinks in. You’re still gone.
But moments we had I will forever cherish my dearest Aunty Sue,
Moments that will forever stick to my heart like glue.