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.