Winters Gems.

Iced diamonds
nothing to fear
silver white bells
but none to hear.

Emerald leaves
hold them dear
nodding heads
bring in new year.

Pearls of winter
crystal clear
to start anew
when you appear.

The Whooper.

Gliding pure white
and noble
across reflective
sun dazzled waters
your graceful poise and
trumpeting whoops
signalling
your presence
for a brief
winter solstice,
before you raise
your elegant neck,
tilt your buttery
yellow bill
to the sky
and in a
flurry of feathers
& a watery
webbed paddle
take flight to
begin
yet another
epic
journey.

Winter Visitors.

On harsh winter winds
you cross our shore
to a gatherers welcome
a harvest in store.

In hedgerows you flock
to babble and sing
a crimson flash
on an upbeat wing.

Sociable chatter
from fields and bush
slate grey rumps
belie camouflage of Thrush.

The moist warm air
of a longed for spring
bids a fond farewell
to Fieldfare and Redwing.

A Moment.

That moment when I saw
the few remaining leaves on skeletal winter trees,
the tiny sunlit break in wind blown scattering clouds,
the ripples on the water as they dispersed ever outwards,
the shafts of light upon damp,dark newly ploughed fields,
the first soft flakes of snow falling from a leaden grey sky,
the flock of wheeling birds across a wide sandy estuary,
the sunlight racing over the purple heather hill,
all became mine,
in that moment in time.

That moment when I heard
the deafening roar of waves on a pebble beach
the first spring call of the returning Cuckoo
the patter of winter rain on window frames
the crisp sound of walking on fallen autumn leaves
the screams of Swifts as they race across a blue summer sky
the soft squeaky scrunch of footsteps in virgin snow
the ascending burble of a Skylark above a golden field
all became mine,
in that moment in time.

Ode to a Lark.

How strong you are
your wings beat
through the sky
as you fly.

How brave you are
your voice sings
upon the sky
as you fly.

How glad am I
to hear your song
as to the sky
my heart does fly.

The Moor.

Wild & empty,
sunlight dancing
on distant hills,
plaintive eerie
calls of unseen Curlew,
a lone Buzzard soars
on invisible air,
a noisy silence
surrounds us,
gentle winds
move
parched grasses
and nothing
nothing to prepare
you for the
vast space
and aged
beauty
of your
bleak
wilderness.