PRELUDE
Shall this be
My favourite hour
When the mackerel fins
Hang
Heavenly blue
In the last minutes
Of daylight,
When the day-breath
Pauses
Incomplete,
Yet satisfied,
As all activity
Settles slowly,
Drifting down
Through the air –
Sounds falling
Into silence?

Or this,
Shall this
Be always
In my mind,
This brief moment
At day-break
Caught
In accidental waking
When the mist
Rises
Layer upon layer
Above islands
Of blue hedges,
White blackthorn
Spearing
The pale veil,
Vanishing
With the tawny owl’s
Homeward flight
Into brighter
Eastern day?

Shall this be
The most beloved
Moment
When the evening light
Shines back
From western edges
Through the hedges
Across the lawn
Blessing
The Silver Birch,
Bathing her crimson
As the sun grows
Overlarge,
Unable to contain
Itself,
Spilling
Scarlet streaks
Wantonly
Into the washed-out sky?



Or this,
Shall I choose,
This towering ocean of wind
Billowing
Through the Ilex
In blustering waves
Of roaring might,
Breathing out sea-salt
On its damp
And monstrous breath,
Rioting
Through the trees
Untethering thoughts,
Throwing out
The year’s unwanted store
Of dead twigs,
Leaves,
Branches
And possessions
From outworn hiding places,
Showing me
My insignificance
In the midst
Of this immense
Natural messenger
Of change,
Inviting
My free fall
Into surrender?