I put the key in my door and stepped back into double-glazed silence. Without hesitation I collected a drink and set off down the garden. I’d walked the dog early through the woods and wanted to hear more of the free concert before the oncoming heat of the day silenced the music.
It’s just like jazz; each feathered musician taking his solo at the right moment. You can tune in your ear to one bird while the others continue. Comic woodpeckers hammer tree drums; cawing crows lend distance; doves curr softly; prima donna blackbird has to sing solo although the cheeky robin in competition, somehow manages to sing louder. Do they sing to one another? They seem to know just when to add their piece.
It lifts my spirit and dispels my ‘seasonal affected’ blues and I start the day in a much better frame of mind.
Before the awning is restored
sunlight bars the route
through straining branch and bough.
flirts with host, entwined in loving embrace,
unfolding fresh foliage.
Bluebells push and peep
through pale paper remnant
of last autumn’s cast off.
Against sombre fir
whitewashed bones of birch
stretch lace fingers skyward.
Spiteful gorse, bold, brassy,
illuminates the landscape.
Amongst the scruffy heather
grass quilled porcupines sit waiting
while our feet slide on sand,
sun-dried after winter rain, not stained
like other deserts of warring factions.
Here, the ancient Green Man smiles
on Life, Death and Regeneration.