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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.

A moorland morning
Loaded with memory
Grounded, held
By a fierce weight of story.
A quiet noise
Rises from the mountain
Softly at first
Then joined by another
Layers of story
Connected
In measured love
Lost in the music
That played long ago
Held together
By Curlew song
Floating with pleasure
Down to our treasure
Singing our song
In separate measure
Then meeting
And parting
And meeting again.
The wise owl of time
Quarters the moor
But the music connects us
To all we have known

So softly gliding
Near silent, and searching
Feathers a'shimmer
Like silk in soft sunlight
Eyes dark like coals
From a deep mine, not burning
But gentle and cool
Like the sweetness that flows
From the reviving pools
Of a high mountain rivulet
Sparkling with light
Of love in the morning
Ghosting like mist
On the buttercupped meadow
With the grace of a kiss
in the quiet of the night

A grey morning
Dark, almost twilight,
On the very edges of things
The distance between now
And the beautiful days.
Absence and presence
Noticing not noticing
And there you are
As if from my dreams
Ghostlike and wandering
Wonder in your dark eyes
Floating silent and free
Over golden buttercups
And soft chervil tops
And I am with you
We're flying together
Far away
Over a distant meadow
No longer dreaming

Dark clouds sailing
Dark Rooks gathering
On muck-spread stubble
Little islands of sunshine
Light up the hills
In fortunate places
Always moving
Along with the breeze
And I know I'll be lucky
There's rain in the valley
But my way is clear
Skylarks flooding my head
With beautiful music
And my joy at the summit
A golden Curlew
Lit by the morning
So close I could touch her
On my own little island
Of silver sunlight.

Sunshine and showers
Wet roads and rainbows
Thunder rumbles
Flood water flows
Down the sides of the roads
Carrying stones from the moor
On their great migration
Down to the valley floor
The blue tits are busy
Baby birds calling
The garden a flutter
Of fast wings and buzzing
Of fuzzy bees and tiny wasps
The humming declines
In the darkness of clouds
But the light brings the music
Of honey and hives
Stop and listen
Our too busy lives

This is beauty
A warm southerly
Like the breath of a lover
Leading me gently
To where I will go
Sweet air
Aniseed spiced
Fennel and chervil
Dandelion clocks
Shine between buttercups
Golden glowing
All along my going
Up to where skylarks
Whisper their prayers
In the cloisters of heaven
Echoing so clearly
in the so gentle quiet
Of a soft summer morning.

Buttercups and Cow Parsley
Billowing golden
and frothed like a green bay
At sunset,
Beyond a storm-wracked day
There's a peace in this breeze
Though the broad green leaves
Have been ripped from the branches
Of sycamore trees
The Curlew calls
Wild, not free
Protecting her treasures
Like a shepherdess
Counting her blessings.

I'm late today
There was work to do
The light looks different
In the late afternoon
A low sky
And a gusting wind
Tearing green leaves
From cherry trees
Skylarks are singing
Over the stubble
High on the wild edge
Of the breeze
I'm flying,
At ease on the hill
There's a Curlew
Flying beside me
Singing a Curlew's song
Haunting me
With joy.

Cleansing rain
In opaque sheets
Siling down
Washing me down
with late spring coolness
Knowing now
The reason for the mow.
And the skylarks are singing
In spite of the rain
And all their troubles,
And I know in my heart
that their beautiful song
Is about starting again
Somewhere safer.

Three Curlew, a skylark
And a song without words
Both mournful
And triumphant
Floating
like a ship of dreams
Over the misty ocean.
Summer green
Brightens the morning
Chases the gloom away
And the pull of the hill
Is easing.
The air is full
Of the scent of the mow
But I'm up to my waist
In buttercups and lace
And deep in my heart
I know.

Utterly gorgeous
Cornflower blue
Cloudless
The softness of cool
On the summer breeze
May in her glory
Dancing in her joyful
golden fields
Hedgerows bright with
White lace shimmering
And heady
with the scents of spring
Hawthorns blush
With rosy tints
As deep within
The hidden wrens
tick like little clocks
Counting down the years.

Oh to live in a land of gold
Where the air is sweet
And gentle stories told
Enchanted music falling
Down from a silver sky
Even as the mist is lifting
Tinkling music falls like rain
And the gentle fingers
of soft sunlight
Pull back the shimmering curtains
To reveal a world of vivid green
And light the fragrant candles
On the shining chestnut tree
Sets golden scented fire to glow
In the lovely heart of the laburnum.

Hello blackbird
My soul friend
Singing sweet and low
High up in the Cherry tree
Just as dawn begins to glow
Today the mist is soft and gentle
Cobwebs jewelled, wherever I go,
Glistening in the milky morning
I'll ride the way the rivers flow
Gently,
and amazed
at what's unfolding
Every day you sing to me
From high up in your cherry tree
My anam cara, my blithe and free
Spirit of the morning.

Whitsuntide
The fullest flow of life
Even when the clouds are low
The sky is bright
With whitest light
Over a fallen cloud
of fading Bluebells
Golden fields
Buttecup-full are
Edged in lace
My senses filled
The delicate, delicious
Incipience of spring
All we have waited for
Is erupting
Rowan, hawthorn
and apple-blossom blush
A flush of lilac clover
The time of our lives
is here and now

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matty7w

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