A winters stare,
Beautifully resonates in the air,
A clear sky, a frozen pitch,
I wonder if the beauty,
will last more than a few minutes,


The snapping of a twig,
which was once part of the untouched view,
A graceful swan as muted as I am in awe,

Gliding by,


Looking over by the hill,
The mist breathing through the grass,
as I pause once more,
The grandest of oaks, silhouetted by the rising sun,
Grips me to the core,


Only in England…


Say no more.