A shadow runs across a meadow
a hawk above me on a cloudless day.
A high prescience
for a moment
overhanging a far heaven.
It is not stooping or diving,
not reaching or snatching,
it is not bent to the wind like an arrow,
nor hunting.
When Goshawks hunt
they trace small circles,
seeking a rustle and bustle,
tell-tale signs of scurry.
For now it is not compelled or held
by any thought or sight,
lithely it sails,
nonchalantly counting coup,
jousting with the sun on lancing wings.
A raptor cleaving its authority.
Swift winged conqueror!
An ascendency unmatched
by anything else this day.
I traversed a craggy Scottish moor,
Where morning mists,
rolled o’er,
the soft undulating ground,
smelling of peat,
Gave way to a rocky path beneath my feet,
A screeching sound I heard,
from way up high,
I looked and saw,
two goshawks flying by,
Circling as if in altercation,
I could not tell if it was fighting or flirtation.
A scrambling noise ahead drew my attention,
to a flock of sheep who,
in frightened apprehension,
eyed me warily,
but it did not stop them eating,
I passed them by,
and left them to their bleating,
Scotland has a wild
and wondrous landscape,
Where unspoilt nature
invites you to escape,
From rocky heights, to climb,
To which you would aspire,
To green encumbered glens,
that do inspire.
It grasps your soul, this land,
with it’s bounteous beauty,
And reminds that to protect it,
is your duty.
I will admit to other loves,
and causes,
Shakespeare's sceptred isle,
is my amour,
But Robbie Burns homeland,
I as much adore.
Indigenous forest so awash with trees.
Leaves strum a tune in the cool Autumn breeze.
Rustling rowans and galloping ash.
A rustic blanket for a well trodden path.
Plum tinged foliage,fleet of foot in the dance.
Melancholy movements has me in a trance.
Woodland dance floor with pine-needle skin.
Acorns descend hit the floor and join in.
Ancient great oak stands fearless and tall.
Watchfully presiding over each leaf that falls.
The seasons will pass and flowers will flourish.
All dancing their feet in Gods soil to nourish.
Drifting of herbs and bluebells in spring.
Come Summer,a chorus,the nightjar will sing.
Badgers emerging on mild winter nights.
Flittering bats in forest twilight.
Crossbills and siskins searching for fruit.
Goshawks and buzzards circle and swoop.
Indigenous forest,a landscape supreme.
Take the kids there tomorrow,its got to be seen.
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