TOWARDS SPRING
Standing in the wood where anemones grow,
Here hibernating timber waits among the toppled ones.
Webs gossamer floats, shimmering between the silver birch.
It is an end to March, of greenness getting greener,
Soon fountains of swallows flight will ignite
The horizon line.
I walk now among the black obelisks
Raising my head, feeling the creak of neck bones,
To hear the sighing of branches touching.
Buds burst, blossom breaks dropping seed, spreading scents
A smell of honey pollen drenches the air.
Knots and knarls call time on the banked earth.
Many children are born on this day,
Breaking through mothering sacks.
Leaf bursts on me and I hear the infant cry.
Flights, Issue Nine, June 2023
Flight of the dragonfly 