At early hour the amber hint of winter sun, horizon low, seeps through a gentle morning mist to find, waiting, a silent stand of silver birch,
(perfect pic borrowed from 'rambles with a camera'.....I have no shame).
The dew-wet grass lays witness to the waking day,
and in that morning yawn, the shadowed hedgerow lightens to outline twig and branch......
A fading line of footprint leads out across the frosted ground, an echoed tread of some risen farmer, early-huddled, eyes still veiled in weary glance.
Above in greyborn sky, a flight of steady rook pass silent overhead, black-feathered and intent toward a favoured tree-worn hill.......
Below, fielded in dawn-dampened fleece, sheep bow in constant graze, their hallowed breath, cold-sharpened, tastes the morning chill.
In quiet air the day unfolds, and rising from it's nightly shade, welcomes in the softened light that moves aside the darkened view.......
Wooded sleep is woken, the leaf-dimmed curtain drawn, still painted in pale pallette thin, yet with water-coloured promise of a deepened hue.
The morning hours begin to sound, robin song and wren, the pigeon coo, the cawing crow, the fence-line flurry of flustered pheasant....startled jay....finch-twitter, tuned and calmed with blackbird call........
Each fabled voice is spent in solo song yet does not mar with any other, the rhyming rhythm of natures reason, an age-old descant known by all.
No comments:
Post a Comment