Moorhen’s floating nest
Palest of cuckoo flower at the oil spill open to all that comes on the breeze
listening to the birds, waiting in vain for the cuckoo…?
A gentle placement at the tri-trunkular tilla cordata (small leaved lime)… an offering of sorts it seems
The Ash over the zigzag, near or far still there at the apex, willing willing willing – there will be no die back or dye back fears or dye-back pre-emptive measures of heckling saws in hands, the Ash must stay, hold sway, be generous, near far near far near always swaying, holding, sway
It has the look of an open book, this place I overlooked yesterday from on high, evidence remains, a rock and a pillow, a pillow and a hard place, a rock and a soft place, off the beaten track
looking the other way, the brassicas are the new yellow of the Western Glen
Listening and moving on up the acid yellow so different to the song of the gorse, no bees at this hour….
and Mugwort standing tall from last year, ignoring that acid blaze of brassica, courting yet the graffiti at the cage
