The Sun it Oversleeps!
Mottled is the sky in a laid back patchwork – the Sun it oversleeps,
The Songbirds take their hush – to a chorus of Dove calls – the comfort that it keeps!
The wheat fields ripen and fade their green – addressing their golden veil,
Over the top where the stream runs dry – from the hills a Buzzard’s wail!
Stepping through the gate it startles a Wood Pigeon – hidden overhead,
In a flurry of flapping and fleeing the scene – a spark to find a thread!
Wandering up the path to take it all in – finding a state of calm,
A Ring Neck Dove it dived from the hedge – when I nearly came to harm!
Paying my respects – I cross over the threshold – and in between the trees,
Greeted by the hearty bosom of fruit – swelling apples by degrees!
A cropping of almonds – that climb up their branches – putting on quite a show,
There are Pears a plenty and growing with life – the season in the know!
The Blackbird nest is done with its nursing – while the Buzzards come and go,
The Crows they chatter in many tongues – as they bustle to and fro!
The Butterflies dance – a corner of Thistles – as their purple pompoms bloom,
The Bees and Wasps they do the rounds – while they buzz and hum their tune!
Midday yawns with the glowing of sunshine – as we settle down to eat,
Prepared with a picnic we honour the bench – which is something of a treat!
There’s a scratching in ear shot – piercing the still – I turn my gaze quite sharp,
Behind me with a run up – a Field Mouse scampers – up a fold of cornered Tarp,
Damsel flies tail the orange tip Butterflies – as the Peacocks flutter by,
Studying the amenities a fine bed of nettles – with the guestrooms on a high!
With a hailing call a Buzzard circles – so majestic in her shape and size.
Too big for a male from tip to tip – offering a wording to the wise!
The day seemed to drift with the time as it wandered – slowing up the pace,
There is something so magical and understanding – in the beauty of this place!
A view full of theatre in any direction – wrapped up within the round,
Taking in the moment with the making of hay – on the rising of the mound!
Reclaiming the shed – the rigours of nature – odds and ends they find their home,
Preoccupied thinking and calling to order – the thoughts that spell this tome!
Upgrading the fixings and lining the draws – the tables drawn to task,
And out to the footprint where the roundhouse builds – a moment’s sun to bask!
With a gathering shared – we ponder our plans – inspiration stepping forth,
As fresh as a daisy the problems are solved – as the Buzzard calls the North!
A Blackbird disappears – head first in the Dogwood – crashing out of sight,
A Crow and his crony are bugging the Buzzard – just over to my right!
With the coming of going enter Little Raven – with an energy to burn,
With a running of the circle against the clock – with a never ending turn!
As evening approaches with the slide of the shadows – in a time not to be late,
With a final farewell – we manage our exit – retiring through the gate!