I stood and stared, the road silent for once,
listening to the thumping beat of the waves
on the harried shore, and the call of the wind
whispered in my ear of wet weather to come,
the rustle in the bushes of small birds startled
by jackdaws rough calling, charging passed.
—–
I stayed watching, and listening, hearing a song
burbling from the branches of a wintered tree,
then, chattering of human voices and the wren,
slipped swiftly through twisted, tethered branches,
leaving me to my awesome wonder – that a tiny
feathered friend would share their lyrical call,
—–
with humans and the hurrying oblivious folk
travelling through the outstanding countryside,
populated by creatures, seen and unseen,
working together with nature and singing their
tiny hearts out as the plastic, litter and tramp
of the feet of people talk to enjoy the view and
——
for their troubles fail to hear the tiny wren,
or finches as they chatter and spread their
Gold and crimson, and charm those who
choose to stay their journey, and silently
wait for the cheery cry of the chough calling
in the wind and the lament of the buzzard.
——
Turning I saw the dark clouds drifting across
the blue, green landscape and suddenly they
split and through the darkness spread the golden
rays of a setting sun. And for a moment the
glowing clouds cupped the molten gold like A
loving Chalice offering light in the
deepening
darkness.
