Poem

A crisp, cold, frosty morning with the low winter sun shining strongly out of a clear blue sky, making the ice crystals glisten and sparkle on every leaf and blade of grass. Not a breath of wind this morning – the water as still as the proverbial millpond, reflecting the glare of the sun into my eyes.

A strong Sou’Wester,
Storm Gerrit, someone’s called it,
Harrying over the harbour,
Pulsating over the park.

The huge earth bank of the Saxon wall
Still marks the edge of town.
It was built by Alfred the Great
To keep the Vikings out
(But it didn’t work, sad to say,
The Danes occupied the town, anyway.)

Oscillating calls disrupt the coastal calm:
Obstreperous oystercatchers
Clashing over the oyster catch?

Diligently
She flies down to the garden,
She selects the ideal twig,
She flies up, twig in beak,
She disappears into the birch tree,
She reappears, and repeats.

They compete for supremacy of the sky,
Two birds together above the trees,
One circling sedately on the breeze,
One haranguing and heckling with hoarse cry.

She welcomed the prophet of God,
She opened her home to him,
She gave him food and a bed for the night,
She built him a guest room on top of the house
For rest and refreshment whenever he passed,
All is well.

A raucous, rasping shriek,
A startling azure streak –
Jay in the birch tree.

At the edge of the lake they stand,
Remote controllers in their hand,
Staring in rapt concentration,
Each to his yacht – full attention.
Through their thumbs the wind strength sensing,
Alert to subtle changes, tensing,
Tweaking tillers, adjusting course,
Trimming sails and feeling the force.