Finally, summer has burst around me!
I see behind, not through, now solid trees,
distant wisps float by in silence,
light clouds passing by.
Birds skilfully and playfully frolic,
on gusts that ripple where none can see,
through feathers, over boughs,
the blossoms, leaves and yonder sea.
The buzzard rests, in mid flight,
the crows chasing for a fight,
each close enough to catch a glimpse,
one common, one just a fleeting visit,
passing with the summer breeze,
a memory frozen amongst the best,
savoured much like the rest,
accumulated with each breath,
deep and silent as I look out,
I can see the summer sounds about.
The tiny flap of a swift and a nesting crow,
busy birds about their business,
coming and going, to and fro.
Below them silently a little cat,
passes quietly on her dainty paws.
Gently, yet deliberate,
like memories she fleets,
passing with the wind through the trees,
as the lamb bleats,
thoughts, too, like shadow creeps,
and memories give me pause,
to remember the sounds of summer.
The wind, she breathes, a gentle sigh,
through grass and leaves,
low and high,
soft blossoms she does caress,
and blow gently to the sound,
of crisp and aged and withered brown,
an old leaf caught in the corner, wisped around,
nature’s rattle on the ground,
as important as the rest,
a single leaf, all alone,
with a history to whisper.
A beautiful tome.
A dutiful loam.
One moment to the next.
An unheard passing,
a memory lasting,
brought back full circle,
of an atmospheric evening,
alone ‘neath the tree.
The air dripping and moving,
like new life through the undergrowth,
not rain and not dew,
just late evening and a season new.
May, fresh and breathing.
New life becoming, stirring,
like the wind around the frond,
near where I can hear it,
distant, in my memory and beyond.
Forever, each summer,
always to remember.
Coming and going as they do,
each season as they must,
as morning blossoms from the dawn,
this summer swells and gives birth,
to life and beauty and hope,
in the midst of it all,
life cycles on and the distant cockerel crows,
as one blossom falls another grows,
and whilst the silence is decorated by the joy of birdsong,
black and yellow buzzed the bee.