28 December 2009
in the morning, light rain
ceasing in polite way
allowing the sun to come
I went into the garden to get a bit
my first foray for the last month
or two, immobility etc
I am watching
an orange butterfly
in inane way
going here and there
among the ankle high grass, some tickle my upper leg
the sun a warmth I have not enjoyed for a time
an oriental robin magpie
burrowing into the cut foliage
thinking I can’t spot him
then, in Messerschmitt way
going the roof of the
neighbouring house
to regale me
with an anthropological tune
than Messiaen might have done justice to
I think back to a winter poem
of the Wye, watching the ducks, crisps, the mother
with warm wrapped baby
the frontier between Brecon and Radnor
I think back to a poem, a place, a time...
but why, Wye...
