Dragonflies & Butterflies!
Sharing a moment with a Toad – as I prepare to hit the road – on this morn of painted grey,
Slowly building cloud-cover of darkened shades – as I join the path that leads my day!
A two minute bulletin that comes as a shower – over-sized raindrops set to explode,
Running out of rhythm it spits and falters – leaving a dampened veil upon the road!
The tinted wash of cloud – hangs like a seasonal shroud – on the onset breeze my heart does sing,
The Magpies and Crows – are light on their toes – criss-crossing rituals they take to the wing!
The fruiting of the undergrowth – red – amber and green – strings of baubles – the ‘best in shows’,
Earthen fields flow their contours brown and bare – sprinkles of Blackberries cascading the rows!
There’s a timeless reprise – with the parting of trees – along the western ridge-line over there,
The cleavage of the hills – echoes Buzzard shrills – rising the horizon and piercing the air!
Muscle memory foot-falls – passing over the stream – its eagerness babbling from under the road,
Its tumble a rumbling – across a bed of stones – under the subtle bridge that takes the load!
Disturbing a Wood Pigeon to the chatter of Crows – I vanish out of vision and make for the gate,
Sheltered by the shade about a hidden pathway – as I settle with a pause to wait!
Silence finds its heartbeat – a moment to rest – as I push the door and step within,
The stillness gathers with the tide of the wind – brushing my beard and stroking my skin!
Wading along the greenway at a gentle pace – making an entrance that no-one sees,
Lost in the moment I think of as my own – in the elemental swirl of dancing Trees!
The clouds they are thinning – susceptible to pin-pricks – sunlight strands that warm a smile,
The sky is clearing – with cloud disappearing – ushered and onward on the winds awhile!
The Bardic Chair – It shares my air – giving the reaching strands their room to breathe,
With its grounding root – that tends to suit – sharing in the ballad of webs to weave!
A Buzzard to the South – teaching flying lessons – and a youngster rides the waves,
Framed above the South-Stone through the Silver Birch – a memory forms and thought engraves!
Then comes contemplation with our break of fast – and a picnic bench groans with age,
With its gallery setting so bathed in the sun – a conjunction of characters to address the stage!
House Martins and Swallows in their dribs and drabs – they swoop in on solo trips,
Winding circles round the tree-tops – in a free-form act – with their banking sweeps and dips!
A small brown Dragonfly samples the tufts – meandering choices and testing the views,
The Butterfly Whites – flutter random flights – seeking out the sugar-rush they can use!
The sounding wind of seas – ruffling at the Trees – dappling the shade in the sunshine’s ease,
Under a deep blue sky where the moment sings – playing at the strings – floating on the breeze!
The wheat-bed tucked and tidied away for winter – scurried away with the hay,
The paths and the circle – offered a short back and sides – with the cycle of the day!
There’s special attention to the lie of the gallery – forming a carpet – even and neat,
As Robin casts an eye from the under-skirting – where the Hawthorn Berries grow so sweet!
As we take to our rest – we share the Dragonfly zest – where colours they glint in the sun,
A larger Reddy Brown – how it bobs up and down – turning in circles with each passing run!
An Emperor comes into view – its tail of turquoise blue – joining the air-show before our eyes,
Gathered by the few – with a display to run through – chaperoned by the Butterflies!
Another Emperor’s bow – to the here and now – with the random Greens and Reddy Browns,
Weaving round the circuits – around and about – the delicate thunder of nature’s sounds!
The Dogwood Berries they store their flavour – for the raiding parties of hungry birds,
To echo the spiral of the turning season – as I have laid down before in timely words!
The fruit trees swelling – with Apples and Plums – the Almond crops its share,
The Hazel Nut spray – has been Squirreled away – now the Hazel Trees are bare!
And as for the Pear – there is not one there – with this season’s crop to fail,
The lonesome Greengage fruit – has now left its shoot – and here I end its tale!
The Wasps and the Bees – investigate the Trees – monitoring the ripening day by day,
The hedgerows are heaving – hanging low with their bounty – riding the wind with a gentle sway!
With a time-line calling – for the last one leaving – images taken for an enquiring mind,
The Wood Pigeon returns – as I close the gate behind me – and leave my day behind!
Out into the onset – of sunset eve – following the footsteps of this morn in reverse,
Unwinding the future from a distant thread – and weave it into verse!
A dozen Partridges – retire discretely – over the field and slightly round the bend,
There’s a festival of Crows – where my journey goes – on to my journey’s end!