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The Raven knows everything
About endings and beginnings
He's always there
At the gate
Waiting.
Do the Curlews know
There's something sacred
About the darkness of the day?
Spiralling up
Into the sky
Three white curlews
shining in the light.
Rising like white smoke
From a holy place
Singing to me
Hello
Goodbye.

Softness and light
The pointillist
Paints the sky
A thousand dabs
of silver-white
Set before a silver sun
Veiled and dappled
Brightness tumbling down
A higher force
Is flowing.
Single notes
dropping from the sky
like silver rain
Skylark falling
Curlew calling
And a wall-tall snipe
Sings beauty to his mate
With a song
Of creaky bed-springs
In the night.

Sing me a song
Of pink clover and buttercups
Sing me the song
Of the hillside in June
Fly with me
Out of bog cotton
And meadowsweet
Up to a sky-dream
Of cloudsilver blue
Give me the hills
And their tinkling waters
The scrub and the rushes
The fen and the flow

1/2

I long for the wildness
Of unimproved pastures
Where butterflies flutter
And the brown hare lies low
Whisper me softly
In thyme and sweet clover
I'll make a soft pillow
To rest on, my love
And the world will keep turning
I will will keep yearning
For Skylarks and Curlews
And tall foxgloves

2/2

Cold and clear
The air is trembling
And the breeze swirls
Silver spirals
In deep green fields
I'm keeping the company
Of three shining Curlew
Gliding down to where I am
Calling as they come
Angels alighting
To settle beside me
Calling my name
Brave and curious
At my breathless wonder
At a sacred moment
I turn to leave
They fly away

All my summer flowers
Are hiding from the rain
A nest of vetch
Alight at the foot
Of my moorland oak
Somehow beautiful
Like a little song
In the night
I labour in thrall
To the dark west wind
All my thoughts
on struggle.
Notice the brightness
In the tinsel of a finch
And the weight is lifting
Swallows see the joy
And raise me
To the light.

A wet wind
Blows from the west
A slow billow
Rolls across the hill
Tall grasses
Heavy in rain
Hushing silver
As I ride
A single ray of sunshine
Beaming down
An iridescent Lapwing,
Fragile in the light
Shining from the inside
With an emerald glow
Bright spirit
of the meadow

@allin inspired by my daily ride and passing on old oak tree...but you are right, it is not really (or rather, just) about the oak tree. It is about someone very special to me.

Every day,
I watch,
You change,
Marking time
As I pass by,
Helping me to notice
The turning of the wheel.
Do you remember
The dark days
After gales
had robbed me,
And all that was left
Was my naked bones?
Now I see you shining.
I'll remember this day
You were dressed for summer
Lighting the air around you
With your smile
And I will hold you in my heart
This way.

@allin yes. I'm glad it helped. I needed it too 😊

Three swallows
Dancing low
Over the rusty meadow they go
Like little gods
And, unlike me, today
Indefatigable
Messengers from another place
Heaven sent, perhaps
Inspiring
Swift
In their swept back wings
Even as a cold wind blows
These little lights are shining
Lifting the weight
Of any sadness
Changing my mind
As dark clouds dull
The summer sky.

High on Arctic air
Bliss in the climbing
I fly with the Swifts
Cutting through
this summer chill
With rapid ease
And flickering
With energy
Finding joy in the blue
And the gold
and the silver of it all
Clover sweetens the meadow
In shades of magenta
And high on the hill
A small flock of greylag
Peeps over bright buttercups
And a Curlew descends
And sings her healing song
To my heart.

Love
Like the Curlew on the wall
Guarding and waiting
Fragile and pale
As if her whole world
might fail
In fear of dark crows
Arriving like fate
Cut through the gloaming
Oh brave Curlew
How I love you
Your trembling call
And your rise and your fall
As you scatter the fateful crows
And return to your wall
And your treasure.

Silvery grey
A strong wind
Blows from the west
Slows my progress.
Im on the edge of sunlight
A watery shadow
Moves before me
Stretching out
Over the wall
Over to where
The Curlews call
In soft whispers
To treasures
Hidden in buttercups
Rusty dock and sorrel
Skylarks are singing
Over the yarrow.
And time is flying
Hurtling headlong
Into mid-summer

Beautiful
Warm and sunny
Cotton clouds
Blue and white
Skylark glory
Bunting on the moss
A Buzzard keening
On the hill
The air alive with
A buzzy hum
Fuzzy bees and
Zippy warblers
Furtling in the furze
And the geese
Are in their heavens
Flying line astern,
Travelling back
from their watery rest
Over the mountain
Out of the silvery west

Peaceful,
Shades of white brightness
Cow Parsley billows
Soft waves in the fields
Lit by a silver sun
Rowan and Hawthorn
Sheltering lambs
And turning to rust
As summer rises
Over the moor
Vast clouds of white cotton
Across the wide acres
Dancing in crowds
As the wheatear tips out
The beat of the day
And I hear the echo
Of a Whitethroat singing
Her sacred song
Beside her fields of gold.

And there I was
Complaining
about the strength of the wind
It being the end of May
And all,
And then I noticed
The lustrous leaves
Of my moorland oak
Reaching out to me
As if to say
We've been through worse
Together
I'm inspired
By the tenacity of tree
And the spirit
Of the heart of oak.
The Curlew calls
Her treasures home
And I fly
With the Swallows.

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matty7w

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