A Hint of Spring!

9:16 and I re-acquaint my path – in the hazy wash of morning springtime Sun,
A Pair of reassuring Mallard’s cross above my wander – gone as quickly as they come!
Partridges bustle amidst the Crows and Songbirds – a Buzzard circles above the hills,
Basking in the later verses of the morning chorus – as the sunlight warms the chills!

Sweeping ever nearer the Buzzard it circles – joining a friend ahead above the Grove,
The Stream it gambols with a froth of bubbles – with its moss of greens and mauve!
A Pheasant stalks the contours of the open field – where he wades between the lines,
With the babble of the sparkle catching rays – going with the flowing level slow declines!

The silence it echoes with the call of the wild – two paths meet the point of one,
Tongues of recent trails – tell of flooding tales – and so on to where they’ve run!
Snowdrops and Daffodils – vie the tide of attention – with an entrance one and all,
A hint of spring amassing infinite buds – with a flurry of Catkins featured big and small!

The pond and its water standing before its time – where the Elders come to rest,
The burst of blossom upon the Almond Tree – with season’s turning to suggest!
A Pair of Partridges withdrawal at the end of the scene – where taller is the grass,
The Crows with chores expressing their feelings – while the Pigeons come to pass!

A Green Woodpecker performs the dance of Ants – before he’s quickly on the wing,
In the southern corner at chambers near – where its markings make it sing!
A first for the Rowan and a bearing of roots – where a lesson’s there to learn,
The ‘Planning Department’ – make executive decisions – with all that is of concern!

The Elders retire to their final resting place – with a careful seclusion at the gate,
Standing to attention with a reach for the light – planted with care – before we ate!
Second breakfast for some met with thicken of cloud – feeling the North wind blow,
The biting of the chill – serves a subtle reminder – while the season needs to grow!

The Hawthorn to the east end of the Moon garden – taking a pollard down to size,
With the gathering of logs so neat and tidied – needing for the ash the flames did rise!
Little by little – the fire found the heat of its passion – I felt it warm my humble bones,
Warming the heart with the fan of the wind as it stands at the head of the stones!

And lo it came the day of the chosen Alder – with a final venture into the east,
A moment of planning of years in the making – where its bondage is released!
There’s a parting of Snowberries filling in spaces – where the Mock Oranges share a bed,
The Bluebells in the green and making their move – for the display that lies ahead!

The shooting Dogwood tips – they form like lips – tasting the sunlight in tiny sips,
A Kestrel slides by to check out the menu – for an observant entry within the scripts!
The Snowbells look shy – of a nervous persuasion – as they start to hang their heads,
I watch the Robin to and fro in exited wonder – madly picking at the threads!

With the Wheat bed timely made and dressed – there’s a changing of the guard,
There’s a focus on the fire with all that is left – with the Hawthorn fighting hard!
Over the hedge and through vertical smoke – a silent Buzzard this way came,
Following the contour of the flow of the vale – over the gate and down the lane!

Robin returns and he’s doing the rounds – taking in his multiple views,
He studies me hard from the wind chime T – like he’s checking out the news!
Birds of a feather a gathering of minds – off to the North and South I see,
Pulling close the edges to even the fire – Wood Pigeons and Starlings either side of me!

With a gentle smoulder the raging fire it rests – for its burn this day is done,
The soft glow of ember and the wisps of smoke – it’s time to return to whence I’ve come!
Parking the barrow – the tying of lace – hitching my backpack – we push on early eve,
I make way through the close of the gate – and there’s a Blackbird to Herald my leave!

A Wren flanks my journey along the hedge – where the Blackbird’s sing on mass,
The Pheasants seek to find their shady corners – dissolving into the grass!
Crows finish their duties in one’s and two’s – scattering to many a distant land,
With the gurgle of the stream I hear the Buzzard call – with my note book in my hand!

The Pied Wagtails play along Finches way – and the Ring necked Doves place their call,
Low against the field there’s a sheltered form – hiding out from one and all!
There’s a Hare on the rise above the duelling Pheasants – as it skirts the field’s edge,
Sharing the moment I partake of the show – before it’s retiring to the hedge!

oOo