Nothing to trouble a heart

Death Is A Door
Death is only an old door
Set in a garden wall
On gentle hinges it gives, at dusk
When the thrushes call
Along the lintel are green leaves
Beyond the light lies still;
Very willing and weary feet
Go over that sill
There is nothing to trouble any heart;
Nothing to hurt at all.
Death is only a quiet door.
In an old wall.
Nancy Byrd Taylor

A sombre poem or an uplifting one? I don't know but I rather liked it and thought it fitted the image - actually an old door on a little stone barn attached to a farmhouse. I think the farmhouse has recently become empty so the poem may have more truth than first meets the eye.

It's blowing  a hooley out there - sunshine, huge clouds, winds all over the place and a very low rainbow over Bantry Bay.

Other than that, rowan jelly has just been made and I'm now off to tackle the polytunnel which has run amok.

Edit: a swim just taken, spartan or what!