Sunday 15 March 2015

Streamers In The Wind

Wind cutting right to left picking up the shirt-tails of the pines
Nothing apparent as form only effect catches the eye
Once there was longing for release to cut free to the chase.

Water had collected in the mud hole the last dregs of a winter storm
Everything sentient had fled once the tractor had passed by
Sedge grasses bent to the inevitable and shadows chasing the path of the sun.

The blackened stems of gorse brushed past zig-zagging this way and that
Rising twisting in vain for light to take hold now flowing into emptiness
If we knew then what we know now we still would have walked the road.

The silvered bed of ferns believing still in winter’s cruel bite and shine
Cleansing the earth of the traces of growth turning it into decay
This way the circle turns about itself making space come alive.

The clouds were gathering faster than the sun could disperse light
Thus layer piled up against layer feather falling on feathers
Dipping into the mainstream of beatitude all I could do was fall into change.

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