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Out, towards the furthest farthing of the hill
A silver dappled morning,
Lighting Stoodley's steeple
Standing, stark and still
against the silver dimpled sky
Curlew calling, gently falling
Down towards the misty, boggy snipe
And the bleating lambs
are bounding to their teats
And suckling roughly
in the mole-domed pasture
Soft winds ruffle wooly backs
and lend the larks
a skylift to the heavens
Where they sing their twinkling
To the rising sun.

Mist grazes the hills
And damp air soothing.
Bluebells out from under
Fading daffodils
On the flowery banks
Unfurling
Blue and white
Bringing light
Raising spirits
Bright.
First cornflower
Sings like a sapphire
To the lonelsome sound
Of Curlews, falling
Calling,
All around me
Their water music
Washes the mountain
In mournful glory.

Late afternoon
Spring warmth
Fine rain
and misty tops
Petrichor in the air
And golden dandelions
Swoon with the weight
Of silver rain
Shining like the sun
The meadow throngs
Golden birds
Rise and fall
In whispering clouds
Of lovers glitter
And swallows swim
Against the sky
And with each other
Lovely spring
Dandelion sun
and golden plovers

Enveloped
In a misty morning
The hint of summer in its warmth
Softness and ease
As the morning
Opens out, like a daisy
Seeking the sun
Skylarks have found their secret
And sing songs of love
To their golden god
They can see what we cannot
Hidden in our little fog of certainty
Knowing we will not find it
Until it is ready,
While they fly free,
And know that they can go
Whenever they wish.

A herd of soft Jerseys
On the top field, grazing
I'm feeling the sifting
of days into seasons
The drifting of years
The denial of reason
Spring in the winter
Summer in spring
Hesitant cherry blossom
A rushed month too early
The sands shift too quickly
The skylarks still sing
And the swallows
are home from the south
A single green Lapwing
The last of the thousands
Shines in royal livery
Up on the high lea.

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

@allin thank you so much for your response. I really appreciate your thoughtfulness.

@allin I'm going to listen to that.ni haven't heard it for years and I love that line. Agree 100% on the finances.

@allin that is really beautiful. Thanks so much. Yes. Having a sound financial platform and knowing how much you will need feel to be very important. I wonder if you were giving advice to your younger self, what would you say?

So do you like the phrase as a way of describing what has been going on for you?

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

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matty7w

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