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A beautiful day
Cloudless, clear and blue
A cold wind from the north
Razor sharp light
Blazing low on the horizon.
Stings my eyes
Glittering the silver road
That is littered with stones
Like a silver river
I turn
To face the south
With the wind at my back
And a carol in my head
I speed like a falcon
Into the sun.

Like magpies
They see the world
In black and white
But all of my sorrow
and and all of my joys
Are in my mind today
And ride beside me
In shades of grey
White cloud sits low
And heavy on the hill
But the wind is gentle
And soft-humming
through the wires
My Kestrel friend
Is perfectly suspended
In single-minded flow
There's a beautiful silver light
In the eastern sky
And I'm flying

Turbulence and flow
I'm wild-riding a river of air
With the crows and the gulls
Im buffeted by gusts
Moving between a higher layer
To another wilder flow below
Resistance drops away
Like a burden of stone
And I sometimes struggle
to keep my head above water.
It is energised, this storm
And to be out
is to be de-lighted
I'm frightened for the fall
And sometimes I wonder
Should I go out at all?

December weather
It is hard to feel the joy
On a day like this.
Rain drifting over the moor
Like all the sorrows
Of a weeping world
Are pouring down from a dismal heaven.
Kestrel
Three feathers missing
From her fan-tailed hover
Brave against the gale
And free
I wonder sometimes
about what's important
Don't you?
Three feather missing
From her fan tailed hover
And still she flies
Against these ragged winds
So still in the sky
Watching,
as the sorrows pass by.

We turned the year last night
Today the brightening starts
Long fingers of early light
Reaching deep
into the ancient chamber
Into the heart of winter
The start of spring
It will not be long
Before the larks start to sing
And quiet snowdrops
are already in their green
The Curlew are already
Looking to their hills
And I'm wondering
what stands between us
What can stand in our way?

Hold on tight,
Control what you can control
Trust yourself, make a choice
You don't have to ride
Change your mind, if you want to
And walk.
2/2

Holy moly
It's blowing a hoolie
Wild, dark and grey
A wuthering day
The gale screams
through bended trees
Howls through wires
Loaded and bowed
The road
littered with branches
And stones from the moor
Rain in white sheets
Stinging my cheeks
Marching and wailing
A defeated ghost army
Danger screams at every gap
Blinds at every bend
Threatened and unbalanced
I lean into the wind
And it just keeps letting me go
1/2

Almost there
At top of the hill
The winter summit
almost in sight
Everything is right
I can almost touch
the turn of the year
Feel it in the light
The gale plays strings
Through the high high wire
A deep drum roll
Through the dry stone wall
A choir sings through red girders
And glorious dawn breaks
With a brass fanfare
The greatest story ever told
As the sun rises
Lighting the Emley mast
In gold.

Dark
An earlier start
I can see the bright lights
Of Leeds away to the east
And the shadows and shapes
of high northern hills
Under the Ravens dark wing
I wait where I saw her once
My beautiful owl
But she did not come today
She is searching other fields
In places I can't reach
Away from the road
with eyes like coal
Or waiting, like me.
Damp feathers are a bind
When silence is required

Thick fog
I can just see the walls
On the other side of the field
There's a wind blowing
And it's warmer than I thought
Four fat fieldfares
flee from the Rowan
Chuckling as I pass.
They make me laugh
I laugh like a loon
At the invisible moon
And if anyone saw me
They would think I was mad.

So close to the turning point
A glorious southerly dawn
The colours of royalty
Forbidden, magnificent
All you could ever want
Of a sky.
The sun will turn shortly
And the days will lengthen
Sometime soon
Light will be king.
These are the darkest days
And still they shine
There are ducks in the turnips
And geese on the wing
And I have a beautiful song
To sing.

Dark grey
I thought this day
Might have nothing to say
I thought I would spend
My time in the mire
Until I looked behind me
The sky on fire,
Broad strokes
of the painters brush
Crimson, dark amber, deep ochre
Midnight blue
smoke.
Even at the misty top
Where there's no spectacle
There is a rose tint
To the opaque air
My descent a smile
of gold and green

In the gentle arms
Of a soft southerly flow
It's warmer
And I'm glowing at the top
Magpie joy
Just where I stop
To turn and face the breeze
A soft light
Through silver clouds
Everything is shining
But not bright
Some would call it dull
But there's a flight of geese
Rising from the lake
And calling
I'm brim-full
and wide awake.

Colder
Glass ice on puddles
Littering gutters
I'm on the edge
Low cloud turns to fog
Where the work begins
The air is wet with drizzle
seeping to my bones
Black stones
Grey tones
Where's my light, this morning?
In the Robins song
Echoing by the churchyard
And the hover
Of the Kestrel
Hunting on the hill.

The sky ahead
A dark blanket of grey
A difficult morning
A difficult day
The wind is strong
And the magpies fly sideways
It blows against me
Im pushing against gravity
Inertia, resistance
My progress is slow
My mood is low
But when I turn
I notice the blanket
Has gaps to the south
And the high sky above
Is silver and blush
And the friendly gale
blows me home

Thick fog
Still and damp
The canvas blank
I can only see
With my mind's eye
Unfamiliar shadows
Float untethered
All of my unicorns
Turn out to be sheep
And my beautiful owl
More present
Because of her absence
I know she is there
I can feel her
Just beyond the edge of sight
These are mist-dimmed days
Full of possibility
Myth and magic.

The western sky
A blaze of light
And an artist at work
A drizzled mist over
Black and silver
Stone grey and powder blue
A Turner sky
A storm comes in
And another soaking
Pungent scents from
Damp earth and diesel
A rainbow on the road
And a leaky tractor
Plys the hill
Belching disappointment
Like a tugboat
On the channel.

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matty7w

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