White tip
Bushy tail
Red fox racing
Dashing through the sallow moss
Brown hare chasing
Leaping through the tussocked grass
The hare, the other's speed surpasses
Out beyond the lark and raven
Up, to find his hilly haven,
Over rocks and silver streams
And up into the silver mountain
Flows like water from the fountain
Swift as time flies like an arrow.

Crisp, cold and clear
A cornflower sky
I can see for miles
Bright primroses
And lilac honesty
The inky scent
Of first bluebells
Ready to ring
Willow warblers weep
Their sobbing song
From hedges and trees
Dressed in white blossom
Blackthorn
Wild cherry and plum
The Swallows are here,
My love, they've arrived,
I notice your blushes
My brave Summer-makers
I'm glad you came home

I'm doing some work and thinking on meaning and purpose in later life; the third phase.
What feelings does the phrase 'coming home to myself' conjure up for you?
I would love to hear from anyone else who is thinking about this important and neglected stage of our lives.
...and here is a link to podcast on the topic, in which I was privileged to be a participant.
spotify.link/oxCQEilU6Ib

Those moments
At eyes-meet
Where worlds collide
And electricity charges the air
The liminal space
Between freedom,
wildness and home.
Longing for connection
Certain of it,
Frightened for it,
Unsure of the words
That I should speak
Choosing silence
and lost in wonder.
We wait,
and find a way to love the moment
And then we break away
and flee.
Across the field
Over the wall
Like salmon
Leaping a weir
We disappear.

Cherry blossom,
White as a wedding
A north wind,
The bliss
Of the under-pillow on my cheek
Cool, fresh and alive.
Daffodils blow
by the gap in the wall
And dandelions shine
In their thousands
Glowing like the absent sun
And over it all
The glory of skylark song
Falling like rain
From heaven
Cherry blossom, daffodil
Dandelion, lark
And a wind from the north
In the Spring.

The extraordinary, revealed
Hidden in plain sight
Barely below
the level of the ordinary
Beautiful creature, dancing
There, under the shadow
of the Cypress tree
You have always been there
But now I have seen you
I know how beautiful you are
In your ordinary,
humble questioning,
And your searching for your joy.
I thought that I knew
all that I needed to know
About this place
Then you amazed me.

Damp air and chilly
Thickened by mizzle
Misty Mount Tabor
But clear at the summit
A shepherd cares for
A ewe in her grieving
All of that nurture
For something and nothing
And why? Mother nature
Stands by, just observing
Passing the time
that is left in the offing
To witness the joy
Of the music of Plovers
Even the skylarks
Are sad in their sky-song
And the Curlews can't finish
Their end of their calling
And I wish that the mist
Had followed me up.

A cold northeasterly
Gently blows
Ruffling the gold
Of handsome plovers
Difficult to see.
Hidden, then revealed,
Then shining.
Careful with themselves
And courting.
Their little pips
Are freed from time
And are gentle,
Beautiful reminders
We are here, we are free
So tightly bound are we
To another wild heart
High on the same mountain.
In a lark-full sky

A gelato in the piazza
Strawberry and lemon
And the sun breaks through
Into the cold blue day.
Peace for a moment
Then there's commotion
Up on the ghiraldina
White marble purity
Meets murder.
Peregrine,
in widening gyres
Soars above
Then stoops
With cold hard screams
To curdle the blood
of one soft pigeon

There's a Blackbird singing low
On the dome of the basilica
Echoes from the cobbles
On the ancient thoroughfare
Swifts announce their presence
'we are here, we are here'
As they twist between the spires
Without fear
Energy of peregrine
Silences the air
As he screams across
the shining of the sun
He wheels across the heavens
In a terrifying arc
And away to spook the pigeons
on the square.

What can I notice
From up here in heaven?
The world is too far away
Lost in its hazy day
And the blackbird's beautiful song
cannot reach me here
I am in suspense
And the world
slowly turns without me.
To call out a name
Is to conjure its presence
Nutmeg, cinnamon
Sugar and spice.
Perhaps today I am the skylark
The tiny speck of dark matter
Drifting to the sun
My heart full of song
And trembling
Like the blossom
On the greengage tree

Snow-blossom
On the fragile greengage
Glowing white
On the soft edge
of a grey day
For seven years
I have waited
And now,
just when I am leaving
You choose to flow
To sing your perfect song
And we,
We always knew
it was always there
all along.
The skylark rises in the grey
And ushers in a gentle day
The Curlew calls as if to say
Come with me,
But I'm already far away.

A single Lapwing
Dancing in a silver sky
No other witness
To his beauty
But dancing anyway.
I turn for home
And notice you
Close by
Rising from your mossy rest
Shaking with the might of song
A full five minutes
I watch you sing and climb
A tiny speck of dark matter
drifting to the sun
I feel the lightness of your song
Too high to hear
And your tear-blinded music
Is held gently in my heart

A pewter sky
Lilac banded
Silver sun
Smiling at the daffodils
Smiling at me
A Skylark pair competing
empty their tiny hearts
Of tinkling song
Rise to face each other
A hint of menace in their trills
Each sings over the other's phrases
Singing as if song could kill
Settling at last and still
As the lonely Curlew
Flutes his lonely call
Echoing across the hill

And the whole of the choir attended
At the top of the hill
Beyond the final bend,
Just where the broken road
Was mended
There, where I see the barn owl
With gentle eyes.
The Curlew is calling
The skylarks, falling from heaven
With the sweetest song
The golden plover,
modest in his finery
And the snipe,
winnowing soft in the grey

I saw you,
as if in a dream
Beautiful in your fragility
Wings soft swimming
In bright broken air
Eyes like moons
Shining in still waters
On a clear night
A sweet meeting
Your eyes on mine
Locked together
In a kind of wild love.
The skylarks in my heart
Sing sweet serenades
Over the moor today
And bold wheatears
Have returned for their gold
Primroses glow
Milkmaids blow
And daffodils sprinkle
celandine shadows
All along the hedgerow

April showers
Shy primroses turn their faces
Away from the wind
Wild air makes music
Humming through the wood
And whistling though walls
Sheep hunker down
In the lee of the hill
And hope for clement weather
A gale-blown Curlew
Calling low
Lights in the sun
By a silver stream flowing
Shines almost white
In the bright morning light

Three gentle silver suns
One the brightest
All mirror-shining
From a mackerel
Quicksilver sky
Soft air, almost tropical
Warm to the touch
The sound of Curlew
A gliding bubbling
Lonely call,
Falls to where
the lemon primrose glows
Blackthorn bears
Her snowy blossom
Blowing gentle sweetness
Lightening the day
With honeyed breath
I breathe it in
And fill my heart with hope.

I would risk it all
Just for a glimpse
Of the full moon rising
Over silver water
With you.
The wildest moments
On the softest edge of beauty
When everything I dreamed of
Came true
2/2

The Raven calls
With sombre notes
While other crows
Envy his sleek darkness
And mock him
From a distance
Geese move
With spectacular haste
Across the blue grey morning
Calling wildly
as they go
Three roe deer does
Alert, alive to peril
Still for a moment
On the meadow
Then bound away
Over the wall
To disappear
in brush and heather
White tails reveal
Their graceful leaps
Run towards
The rising sun.
1/2

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matty7w

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