Drips and Drops!
The mizzle turns to drizzle in a clouded grey – and the Crows wind around their tree,
The journey’s end – with its sombre welcome – a tight-knit patchwork drifting free!
Hanging low are the grass heads – heavy in the mist – on our entrance through the gate,
Wringing out the raindrops in a sly crescendo – while the day it mulls its fate!
Relieved the skies – they dry their eyes – while the breeze throws drips and drops,
With a final spray – as it drifts away – the air it clears and leaving stops!
The Dogwoods get a haircut – where the path it struggles – for an entrance there within,
The dry wood crackles – as it tastes the flame – while the heart grows hot – let the day begin!
Mounds of haying clearance – stand all a scatter – forked in small bundles to steam on the fire,
Behold the smoulder curling smoke – streams of cotton white – climb the ladder higher!
Butt End it receives – the law of order – complete with its short back and sides,
Chaos calmed – with a corner charmed – where nothing disappears and nothing hides!
The strum of the strimmer – with the cry of a simmer – defining the features with an edge,
Sun-wise the ring of the outer – Inner circle – around the Silver Birch – along the runaway Sedge!
Picking out the Stones that lead to pathways – lines of straights and bends and gateway strands,
Where the Segments of thought run through turning seasons – the path it calls our footfall lands!
Winning the battle – the lonesome Greengage – surveying Orchard Way from way up high,
The Fruit Trees plumping with their shapes and curves – greening orbs under a dampened sky!
Blushing Discoveries – they plan for the early – holding out a branch for a reaching hand,
Sour in their growing – while so young in their showing – a taste of patience in demand!
A pair of Small White Butterflies – waltzing windy windows – weaving a thread through the day,
Swirling and twirling with the tide of the winds – bumbling and tumbling an awesome display!
A Red Admiral bathes with the appearance of Sun – hoarding a boarding to paint dry its wings,
Resting at the fire’s edge – under a cloaking of smoke – with all the shaded shelter that it brings!
The Bees of the black jacket – a solitary gathering – with a uniform circling a collective flight,
A long distance screech – a baby Buzzard in the nest – unsubtle – demanding – and out of sight!
Nature it calls for a wandering ramble – to the ending so tight in Honeysuckle embrace,
A Red Admiral tip-toe’s on a bed of nettles – blowing in the stiffened winds – of season’s chase!
The late afternoon Sun – sees the House Martins come – signing psychedelic swerves in the flow,
With their abstract weave – nears our time to leave – with an end that’s time to go!
In the contented now – we wipe our collective brow – lost in humbled tones of debate,
There’s a reflective pause – where the memory stores – before we leave and close the gate!