April 21, 2021 § 4 Comments
The bulge of summer gone
in a flurry
the leaves gathered
like a flock of dip stained sheep into corners of untidy gardens
under hedges of blackthorn spikes.
Now a place for beetles
to breathe slow
to play dead.
Winter crocuses naked
bending with no backbone
a blue botanical mistake.
Even the stars shiver
casting a weak shine on an empty field where slaughtered lambs once leapt
twisting in the air.
Only the young mothers remember that.
October 30, 2017 § 12 Comments
That place where a month ago the swallows suddenly left and my brother died. That place where my green valley became a swirling mist and the slow river grew a blanket over itself.
The heron hides.
That place where the bees burrow into the dry moss and I shake out the winter duvet.
I am collecting apples. Wrapping each one in newspaper and storing them in wooden boxes.
I sweep leaves into hills for the hedgehogs.
In the woods the birds still sing. They start early, flittering. After midday the twilight comes quickly and I think only autumn thoughts as I kick through the leaves and turn my face towards that grey cloud that I know will pass.
November 8, 2015 § 4 Comments
October 3, 2015 § 2 Comments
September 17, 2015 § 7 Comments
September 6, 2015 § 10 Comments
November 20, 2014 § 2 Comments