Near-spring

Crow is first to call the season’s change
His rattle carried west between the factory chimneys, station roofs
And conifers that line the road
Then lost forever, scattered into silence over dew on Wyndam Hill.

The still-dark sky is streaked with clouds
Which part and promise blue in hours to come
Their edges frayed and tinged with hints of rain
To fall another day

Then over fields with memories of battle fought
But no clear victor marked
The glimmer of a near-spring dawn
Sends tawny owl to roost.

To hedgerows wild with hawthorn
The scuttle and escape
Of field mouse lived to tell the tale;
Another moonlit night

But rest he mustn’t till his burrow’s reached,
For overhead on warming air, a gifted soarer’s gaze
So dash through green-gold pastures now
And be your nimble best.

On roofs above the millpond
Grey wagtail takes her spot
To perch at gutter’s edge and bob
Till midges meet their fate in shafts of light

Now robin, thrush and blackbird join the throng
And outside bedroom windows make it known
That all the beauty in the world
Is born from equal parts of songs so sweet

Then snowdrops in the shade of Ninesprings wood
Give early weekend-wanderers delight
And pools that freely flow with no more ice
Are further proof that winter’s grip is loose.

David Thackwell