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Liz Apr 7
The colour of fir seeps over the water
A bright spritely white tail dashes past
Home to it’s tea.
Mirror glass ripples as
It’s mist gently rises in the dusk
To form the dew that soaks the grass at sunrise.
Brilliant arcs swell behind
Coots tending the nest.
Blackness has nearly set upon the lake
A ghostly orange tinge on the
Horizon signals the dying of the day
Cold fingers and brisk steps.
Willows make rainbow archways
From bank to water
Lime green fronds dragging the current.
The platter of water drenched moss and spatter on stone,
Blossom trees fit to burst
Dozing in purple twilight
Wrote about my walk last night
Liz May 2020
Getting goose bumps at the brush of new
leaves gushing together on a warm wind.
The soft crunch of grass underfoot
Like the pad of foot on snow.
A mustard brown duck waddles towards me, his comrade in tow,
over daisies snow dropped on grass.
Liz Apr 2020
Think of your favourite place.
I think mine would be the grassy downs
Where you’ll see a kestrel hovering,
Where I’m guaranteed an hour of peace,
Where in summer dandelion clocks
Sway silhouetted against
A golden sun.
Where I’ll be home.
Liz Apr 2020
Silent stillness.
Emeralds hang from the treetops,
glinting in milky rays of
a peeping sun.
Juicy buds gather,
tinkling birdsong amidst
the newborn canopy.
White sea-foam of
elderflower and meadowsweet
spray the grassy banks.
Just love it in spring when everything bursts into life.
Liz Apr 2020
The magnolia was slowly turning to leaf.
Wide high heather hedged
around the cottage.
I suppress a cough
As the green man beeps for no cars.
Liz Mar 2020
The lake looked luxurious,
Opalescent folds of china blue,
Twinkling stars upon water,
Gold russet rushes gently swaying,
Lime catkins freshly woven onto dangling branches.
A Moorhen wades in the riverbed,
Diamond ripples orbiting its sillouhette.
Plump new leaves bedeck the low horse chestnut trees and their fingers stream in steamy shallows.
Went to wollaton Park again today and the light was stunning.
Liz Mar 2020
I can see Spring
and her fine colours
from afar.
I long to stand under the
cherry blossom tree as
it rains confetti down on me.
Instead I stand in real rain, hazy,
pattering, smatterings of daffodils
pressed against barbed wire.
So they closed the formal garden at wollaton Park but I could look in on it from outside
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