Captain S saw a fox two evenings ago,
on the triangle of La Balade des Plaisirs.
At dusk, as the bedroom window closes, a hare,
a grey shadow in the twilight, looked up briefly
before he sped from the gateway to the vines beyond the hay-cut field.
A special moment.
Yesterday evening, the Lesser Spotted Woodpecker
delighted us whilst landing high on the telegraph pole.
Snails venture out to the rain filled puddles
and probably to the surviving lettuces!
Standing under the old oak tree,
still, silent, listening, absorbing, being, living.
To the right, an open field
where goat manure is piled high each year before muck spreading.
To the left, a stone wall
marks the boundary of the field we lovingly call the Triangle.
Be part of a world that time has not changed.
Yet, anew the kennel dogs create an awful din.
My complaint mounts in my head.
However, I have not yet done any more than two or three years ago
when their newly presence sounded unacceptable.
Sounds of dogs barking, yelping,
screaming all day and night is still unacceptable.
Two new lambs have been born to the fold of fifteen.
So young, they make merry with their elders.
Bleating behind hedgerows is a comforting sound.
The cuckoo cucks and coos and cuck coo coos
as it begins to change its tune for June.
Pigeons are no match for their cooing.
Walk a little further and black rooks caw their cacophony
to match the incessant song of the grasshoppers and crickets.
Stand still and silent.
Listen, to the sounds of tranquillity, but not of silence.
Be alone, but not alone.
Be comforted, but not take comfort.
Nature provides poetry,
yet is not so gentle or so kind
when the weather changes