So here we are, entering the month that's half way through the year. My poem for this month shares that half-way point, having been written when the sun had travelled half its long day's journey – was at the top, at midday. A church yard isn't an original place to sit and write a poem, what with all those prompts of mortality, picturesque views of church and landscape beyond, with a bit of peace and quiet favouring rest and reflection. Traditionally perhaps one expects the poet to write their churchyard poem in the evening, with darkness imminent... but in my case, it was the brightest of times – one of those lovely summer days when the contrast between light and shadow was at its strongest, walls radiated warmth and life felt as though it was between breaths. Midday in Stoke Churchyard The tower tips, propelled by clouds, travelling its own way, away from the sea. Someone is mowing. Here on a stone lichens have dropped, spreading their circles of silvery skin on to