Saturday morning, before Today begins.
Warm, still, silent. Up here.
Crow crudely cracks the soundscape open.
Beetles blurrrr West. Blushing pink flushes swiftly gold.
And valleys haze.
So calm, so calm.
Before the second coloured wave, the flock awakes.
And woolly single file precision, pads the contour hugging track,
Still murky gloom, beneath such lofty canopied drama.
A wasp explores, circles, retreats, flies on.
The clouds begin to burn.
So still, so still.
Orange smoke billows. The front expands, drifts slowly, darkening, East.
Flames unconstrained as coloured robins take their cue,
Tune up, and trill with glowing embered breasts,
Jays swoop low. Dive, flashy blue, for cover in the ancient Oak.
And rasp. Jamming. Jarring.
So cool, so cool.
Too soon the fires are out, doused by ticking wrens.
Before the sun’s cloud cusped margin’s clear,
Before the pigeon’s five note coo, second tone held long. In lazy rhythm.
Before its Wings are tested, clapped.
The clocks and rat’s tails sway.
So gentle, so gentle.
The murmuring breeze picks up. The blanket’s spread
Just quilted grey. Above. The bloody harvest mite runs red,
Along my tortured, hair draped vein. No chigger vampire this.
Confused, as mizzle drifts, sun bids farewell.
Below the radio pips seven.
So sad, so sad.
The spell is broken.
It’s just another day.