Sat on the grass surrounding an old, weathered church.
My focus is on a buzzard, sitting on its perch.
He is as still as a rock; his poise gives nothing away.
His keen eyes have already noticed I am here today.
Though others kneel with heads bowed in devotion.
My spirit soars with birds of prey in slow motion.
As the day segues into night.
Darkness arrives, bathing the churchyard in a warm, ethereal light.
The moon appears, swapping places with the sun.
The transition to evening has just begun.
People have left, gone home for the night.
I sit alone, contemplating the twilight.
My eyes are on the birds of prey.
As they also contemplate the end of the day.
Finding peace amongst the gravestones, my mind wanders free.
I conclude birds have the ultimate liberty.
They are free to move from perch to perch.
Perhaps settle by a river in an oak or birch.
Today, their choice is an old building,
settled amid their grotesque gargoyles.
With nests made of leaves, feathers, and soil.
In the yard at night, two beings sit, showing mutual regard.
Both perched on solid ledges, which are uncomfortably hard.
One with security for its family, in front of mind.
The other one is of humankind.
These large birds leave their nest but rarely.
When they do, it is a treat to see.
Extending their wings to their fullest extent.
The world close by is theirs to circumvent.
As they glide and soar through the air, effortlessly
They are creatures who are truly free.
Cutting through the skies with elegance and grace.
They are the commanders of the vast blue space.
Spotting their prey, they hover and then quickly swoop.
Into their mouths, voles, mice, and earthworms, they scoop.
In nooks and crannies, on their ancient ledge.
They survey the world from the very edge.
Finding peace and tranquillity amongst the old.
Weathering the seasons through hot and cold.
Whilst I go home to a snug, soft bed.
A duvet and soft pillow to lay my head.