It’s still raining lightly
when I get off the school bus
and I run,
slopping through the puddles
with the schoolbag over my head
until I reach the farm gate
where I hear music,
old-fashioned music,
coming from the front room
and
in the middle of the yard
is Dad, dressed in his overalls,
and Mum, in a summer dress,
and they’re dancing,
arm in arm,
slowly around the garden.
When they see me
Mum giggles
and Dad waves for me to join them,
‘Lovely weather, isn’t it, Rachel?’