I’m sure it’s obvious why this week’s poem, inspired by and created from the work of the late Hampshire writer and broadcaster Norman Goodland, briefly escapes through the window and into the open air. Life’s changed but thankfully Nature – in her inimitable and unstoppable way – is busting out in the UK.
This morning brought evidence of low temperature overnight, a test of strength for tender shoots. (A dozen neighbours’ cars stand patiently outside, waiting to be needed again, frosted like Christmas cakes.)
As those brave shoots insist on pushing on through, my posts will stay in Norman’s countryside for the next couple of weeks.
Holding good thoughts for everyone, especially our amazing frontline workers, in these uncertain times.
Cirrus clouds will forecast rain
with curving plumes
that country folk call mares’ tails
For fine weather the sun sets red,
the moon and stars shine clear
Sunrise is unspectacular
but flocks and herds
spread loosely in the fields
Come rain or sun
the lark sweeps upward
and disappears to spin
her endless story in the sky