With each gust,
a deluge
of hazelnuts.

There has been a bumper crop of hazelnuts here this year. If I venture out into the woods on a windy day I almost need a hard hat!
With each gust,
a deluge
of hazelnuts.

There has been a bumper crop of hazelnuts here this year. If I venture out into the woods on a windy day I almost need a hard hat!
Beneath the green
tangled luxuriance
of summer growth,
snowdrops
are sleeping.
I walk on,
aware of grey storm clouds
gathering,
darkening,
first few spots of rain.
The estuary beckons.
I walk on.
–
The clouds open,
rain pounding on my
waterproof jacket,
pouring streams down
my legs, drenching
my cotton trousers,
filling my shoes.
I walk on,
the estuary misty
shades of silver.
–
For the raindrops
bouncing off my head,
running down my legs,
I am simply a detour
between the clouds
and the sea.
–
I walk home,
feet surprisingly warm
as my body heats
the rain in my shoes.
–
This is what it is
to be
alive.
The distant sound
of cricket on the radio
drifts hypnotically through
the open window.
Sitting at my desk
I struggle to stay awake,
work seems irrelevant,
not made for summer days.
Even the sound of someone
scoring something,
the cheers of the crowd,
the raised voices
of the commentators,
fail to rouse me
from this mid-afternoon torpor.
Recently the owls have been
silent,
busy,
hungry beaks to feed.
Soon the evening air
will resonate
with their cries.
We all have seasons
of silence,
seasons of song.

Cormorants fish
in the softness
of morning.
Unusually, I went for a stroll before work and was rewarded by this view and this poem.
The robin in the holly tree
pours liquid song
into my ears.
Inside:
Blue sky and sunshine
glimpsed through the window;
a perfect spring day.
–
Outside:
Fields dotted with lambs
hunkered down, soft pink ears
twitching in the cold east wind.
I plant seeds and tidy the greenhouse
as three slow worms bask peacefully
in the sun.
I love slow worms, and it makes me so happy to know that I share my garden with them. They look like little copper coloured snakes, but are actually legless lizards. One lives in the raspberry bed, one in a hole in the patio and one in the wall near the woodshed. There are probably more, I just haven’t spotted them yet.
The song thrush
shouts his delight
at the lengthening days.