Amidst aimless wander my head is full of nothing
But the birdsong of finches in their morning roosts,
Shrouded by berry-laden bushes; musical bushes,
With tiny red beaded bells ringing, softly shaken by dawn’s breath.
My dog runs on before me; the birds take flight,
Silencing the bells’ shrill.
Entering the field; ghost footsteps have left their mark
In the silver dew, bending the grass wearily.
Far across the field another man walks with his dog.
An echo alerts me; there is a connection. In that instant
A recognition of a moment yet to pass.
Although separated by some hundreds of metres
It is as if I were stood by his side.
His face is indiscernible and I know nothing of him
But that we’ll meet.
He walks toward the middle of the same field,
Then bears left to where the trees break,
Throwing their arms open in wide embrace
To draw you into the heart of the wood.
Sensing the unavoidable encounter
And not wanting it to occur,
I change my route, drift under the oak,
Through the gap in the undergrowth,
Through to the adjacent field.
We skirt the edge, my dog gamboling freely,
Sniffing out invisible visitors from the past
And anything edible. Our progress meanders,
Idles and pauses, as must, I suspect, our now unseen companions’.
Seemingly still connected, though, we move on
To the inevitable confluence of our paths,
So bound in time and space as the meeting of two rivers,
The calm of morning solitude disturbed by the white waters
Of the unwanted salutation we exchange:
“Good morning.”
Mar 19, 2017
Mar 19, 2017 at 9:02 AM UTC
Amidst aimless wander my head is full of nothing
But the birdsong of finches in their morning roosts,
Shrouded by berry-laden bushes; musical bushes,
With tiny red beaded bells ringing, softly shaken by dawn’s breath.
My dog runs on before me; the birds take flight,
Silencing the bells’ shrill.
Entering the field; ghost footsteps have left their mark
In the silver dew, bending the grass wearily.
Far across the field another man walks with his dog.
An echo alerts me; there is a connection. In that instant
A recognition of a moment yet to pass.
Although separated by some hundreds of metres
It is as if I were stood by his side.
His face is indiscernible and I know nothing of him
But that we’ll meet.
He walks toward the middle of the same field,
Then bears left to where the trees break,
Throwing their arms open in wide embrace
To draw you into the heart of the wood.
Sensing the unavoidable encounter
And not wanting it to occur,
I change my route, drift under the oak,
Through the gap in the undergrowth,
Through to the adjacent field.
We skirt the edge, my dog gamboling freely,
Sniffing out invisible visitors from the past
And anything edible. Our progress meanders,
Idles and pauses, as must, I suspect, our now unseen companions’.
Seemingly still connected, though, we move on
To the inevitable confluence of our paths,
So bound in time and space as the meeting of two rivers,
The calm of morning solitude disturbed by the white waters
Of the unwanted salutation we exchange:
“Good morning.”
