Emma Goodridge-Hobson Poet Free verse

The Heathland Provides

The heady scent
Changing through the seasons. 
As spring is no longer embryonic 
It’s adolescence showing through. 
Swathes of yellow 
Popping buds and seed pods as the sun hits,
An audible accompaniment 
To the visual spectacle. 
Each year I walk
Through the forest fringes
Heathland meets dense wood
And each time when the scent hits
Initially for that year
My mind is transported. 
To lazy hot summer days, 
Beaches far away. 
Sun glistening on caramel skin
All triggered by the scent. 
The gorse fills the air with coconut,
The telltale sun cream aroma,
A reminder of days gone by, 
Summer to come
Sweet blossoms heavy with nectar
Ambrosia to nourish the beasts
Dwelling in the margins of the forest. 
And as the Beltane passes,
Air filled with smoke from 
A nonet of timbers
Taking us into the summers dawning,
The fresh yellow darkens, 
The scent matures 
No longer coconut richness
And once again the spring has retreated
Time advancing on toward the hazy days.

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Sam Taroni May 10, 2025 at 10:41 PM I stumbled on this poem the other day and absolutely loved it. I was very moved by the gorse growing in a part of the new forest England, and driving across Hampshire after Beltane celebrations near Fordingbridge. Your poem, especially the last section - spoke to my condition! The yellow does indeed darken! Beautiful work.