Sisters of the Riverbank

 

I see them in winter
Now the light is lowering the sky
To a glow of late days

Their fingertips: bony, leaves lost
Entwined in solidarity
Holding hands at the river’s edge
Waiting out the rising winter floods

 

I see them in spring
Now the light is lifting the sky
Above the silver frosts

Singing a green song; dancing
Along the racing riverbank
Filling the air with pollen and bees
Waltzing with the breeze

 

I see them in the summer
Now the light is a vast blue echo
Of blazing sunshine

Their limbs laden: green shawls
Draped over slow summer waters
A picnic of sheep and swallows
And soft summer talk

 

I see them in autumn
Now the light is burnishing
Fruit and grain to gold

Sisters of the riverbank
Counting their leaves as they fall
These memories they’ve grown
They share a rich harvest now

 

 

 

Apples for Tythes

 Step by step

The early light

Full of winter dreams

Is tangible in the air

Like swimming

Through those

Bare branches of

Lone coral trees

Where morning crows

Cough and call

The tides

 

These favourite lanes

Winding through winter

Paths steeped in water light

With apple trees for tythes

 

Paradise

Wellhouse

Pockets full of old rhynes

Views of the hill

Windmill

Wick

And above town

Where pavement heights

Change with

A will

 

Step by step in the early light

Walking the miles

Pockets full of old rhynes

And apples for tythes

 

Water Lands

We’ve made it to the water lands

The year’s high tide

Where the river sings in silver ribbons

Across the meadow side

 

And all the rain, crying out a summer

Of loss & uncertainty

Now races down drains and roads

Returning to the sea

 

We’ve made it to the water lands

Most of the year undone

The dusty soil turned to quicksilver

Under an apple harvest sun

 

And all the rain, crying out a summer

Of loss & uncertainty

Now races down drains and roads

Returning to the sea

07/09/20

The morning, mist slumping from the fields, greets me

With a dazzling smile, Autumn sunshine in the soft air

Squirrels, tails punctuating the roofline, gather food

Where the eaves and gutters are waiting for leaves

And, up in the Museum tree, two jacks chat to a spotted cat

Waiting, hopefully, beneath. Eyes watching me

 

Along the lane, among the white nettle, ivy and old apple trees

I spot a chiff-chaff checking along branches or maybe it’s a willow warbler

Sage and yellow against the fresh, grassy snort of nearby horses

At the stile, the hazel branches form a perfect picture frame 

For the Tor, wearing a wide brimmed blue-sky hat

And a green skirt sprigged with people and sheep

 

Returning past the meadows, a lone swan glides

Schooner skimming the green seas low along the river line

A feathered arrow from an angel’s bow

Blackberry, elderberry, crab apple, chestnut, conkers

The colour of Autumn spilling from the trees

All festoon the path home in celebration of a passing summer

 

Feel the year slow, the fierce summer sun soften

The promise of Spring setting into ripe Autumn fruit

The harvest home, the seed set, the hard work won

A smile, a chat, a wide brimmed hat

And an early Autumn morning