wising up

 

"When are you going to get the boiler fixed?"..."It's not that cold yet!"

"The fridge smells bad. Oh, it's stopped working!"..."What?!?"

"Can't we get a new cooker?"..."One ring is all we really need..."

"The bathroom sink is blocked again!"... "But I sorted that..! Oh..."

"Mum, why do people think owls are wise?"... "Um...I don't know?"

 

7.45pm, August 8th. I go to the woods

 

Cool green hush closes round 

welcoming as covers of a favourite book

each path a loved story, read over and over 

yet revealing new plot twists every time.

 

Autumn seeps, a whisper, a rumour, a memory

of change. Flashes of turning sycamore leaves

bright in still, lush loomings through air suddenly

delicate 

as one warned of inescapable loss. Climb up past skeleton bluebells

in long, tangled grass, to where a bracken sea, wind wrecked

breaks along the top of this sheer drop, glacier-carved.

 

Today, Goatwillow's stream does not sing, though

fallen leaves lie, fine gold scales on her dark mud bed.

 

Ahead, sun's setting slits a weave of birches

above a glory-gauze of wind-waving wild sward - 

deer food, vole home and hedgehogs' jungle.

 

To one side rushes stretch soft russet spines till misty, distant hillfort, the other

slim pillared trunks, and Here's tallest beeches

guarding against west wind's push from surrendered moors surrounding.

 

Walk under magnificence of sky's opening, opal

to rowan berries' dripping vermillion

invitations to feast for far-travelled birds.

 

Soul silent, a pale shape glides between trees, perches

rare, fierce-grace

serene watching all, round eyed, Owl! 

As light comes fast and sideways-straight to catch

grains of fescue, poa, brome, wood millet and common bent

afire as if with a beacon's message passed from horizon

to horizon, every single seed a stalk tethered sun togethered

small-shining on far dark

with such beauty there's no room

for any fear, or thought but acceptance that Heaven is