Grey slivers of water,
turn blue as the lake appears

and being just spring
the still-leafless trees
at the water’s edge
allow sight of wind-filled
sails, a boat tacks too and fro
in the silent distance.

From the Professor’s Garden,
from the shared bench
within earshot of a stream
falling in chaotic music
of water on stone,
a further view takes hold:

of woodland’s gathered green
rising to a moor stained with rocks,
and higher still the rust-brown fell.
Beyond and above all becomes sky,
its processions of clouds
shadowing this laked land.